Two Simple Words
by HumdrumBumrush
Summary: A collection of random AU shorts, scenes, drabbles, what have you, about the OTP to rival all OTPs, Sam and Mercedes. Some are good, some are bad, writing them has made me mad.
1. Chapter 1 - Clean Up

**Chapter One: Clean Up**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, I'd probably drop it in the ocean like that old lady did the blue diamond in Titanic. Please excuse my mistakes and if reviews are your thing, leave them in the fancy box. **

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"What did you do, Mercy?" Sam could barely choke out, as Mercedes hovered at the front door. Her hair matted down from the rain. Her bottom lip encased by her teeth with worry. Her midday manicure chipped and marred with dirt and blood. The latter, Sam prayed to God was hers and not someone else's. A terrible thought, but his thought, none the less. Her dazed state halted the blond's urge to run to her, and envelop her, and comfort her.

He tried again, "Mer—Mercedes?" This time he eased towards her. He shook off his blazer and came towards her like a matador as he cloaked her with its warmth. She shivered profusely; hugging herself with the jacket's lapels in her clutches.

Sam finally got a good look at the bruises forming around her neck, purpling under the silver locket he'd given her at dinner last night. He grazed them as he went to cup her cheek. Trying desperately to get a response.

"Baby, I need you to talk to me… please."

Tears streamed down Mercedes' face as her words broke through. "I didn't mean it. She said you were gonna leave me. I didn't mean it, Sammy. I'm so sorry."

"What did you do?"

"She said you were gonna leave me. That I was wor—worthless. Th—th—that she could make you happy. Could she have made you happy, Sam?"

His heart broke at the disquiet in her voice. Its usual sweet melody rasped away by lengthy sobs and wailing. Sam shook his head fervently. "Never. How could I be happy without my heart, love?"

Mercedes needed to hear that something awful, as she wrapped her arms around his waist. She sank her face into his chest, trying to get as close to his heart at physically possible, and he welcomed it with equal intensity.

Sam peppered light kisses in her hair. Each adoring peck punctuated with the utterance of "You're my girl."

"I'm your girl," Mercedes muffled into his button-up.

Sam pulled her back to hear it again. Mercedes sniffled, "I'm your girl."

"Damn right."

Sam placed a tender kiss upon his girl's luscious pout, which Mercedes soon transformed into a full assault of his full bottom lip. She nipped and licked and sucked herself a path towards reassurance. Each kiss assuaging the pesky corners of her heart and mind spinning with uncertainty, until there was no room for doubt.

Stepping backwards towards the couch, Sam fell into a seat. His nimble hands instinctively grabbed her waist on his way down, forcing her to gladly straddle him. The couple's hands reached their favorite destinations: Hers softly fingering the soft golden hairs at the nap of his neck, while his hands found the fullest part of her ass.

Sam tugged up the hem of her scarlet sundress, causing Mercedes to wince in pain as she lifted up her arms in deliverance from the damp fabric. His eyes grew wide at the full revelation of the marks and bruises covering her body. The scratches above her left breast. The fist marks on her back. The possible bite marks on her right hand, not from his and hers usual displays of uncontrollable passion. Someone put up a fight. Before Sam could say anything, Mercedes kissed away his concern. "I'm okay, Sam. I'll be just fine."

"This is not okay, babe."

His brow furrowed. Just thinking about the cause of those bruises, and a silent prayer that the phrase 'You should see the other guy' would not find their way into this situation, Sam's hands retreated from his love's behind, and laced his fingers with hers.

Kissing her knuckles, he pleaded, "You can't keep doing shit like this."

Mercedes nodded, "I know."

"I mean it, Cedes."

"I know, Sammy. I know. I just… I don't wanna lose you." She tucked in the corners of her mouth, ready to be chastised or scoffed at or whatever it was her Sammy was going to do to her in the moment. For all of the strength that she displayed outside of that room, she found herself defenseless in his arms. Never questioning the power that he had over her, but aware that it was a power to say the least. A power. A magnetism. A down and out compulsion driven by idolatry, which did make her wonder if she could claim he felt the same pull towards her.

Sam breathed in her scent, huffing into her collarbone, "I'm right here, love. I'm not going anywhere. You hear me?"

Mercedes finally shied away from his penetrating gaze, too intimate for even her to handle. To which Sam cupped her chin.

"Look at me."

Mercedes relented. Her brown doe eyes peered up at him with innocence and longing through her blunted bangs.

"You're not gonna lose me. You can try all you want, but you're stuck with me."

Sam gripped her in a deep and desperate embrace, silently weeping into her collarbone. Mercedes caressed his back with sweet, calming circles, ever so often, allowing a "shh" or "My Sammy" to murmur into the blond tuffs of hair beneath her grasp. Sam's tonguing of her neck's wet, salty skin soon glided into a light nibble of her shoulder.

Through the darkness, Mercedes needed to see his eyes. Those green orbs whose warmth always seemed to give her comfort. Palming Sam's forehead, she swooped his short tresses back and reveled in their clarity. She knew she had nothing to worry about, while Sam brushed Mercedes' kiss-swollen lips with his thumb. Her mouth opened for its entry, innocently sucking on the member as if it were her own thumb she was deep-throating with urgency.

Mercedes reached behind her and unclasped her bra, with Sam's enlivened, pale hands promptly yanking down the straps in assistance. He nuzzled his face into her ample bosom, feeling at home to the sound of her rapid heartbeat. He cupped her right breast, and tonguing its fresh scratchmarks. Mercedes yelled at the sting, propelling her to slowly grind into his lap. She felt the bulge beneath his zipper come alive, and a need to feel him inside of her. The final bastion towards contentment.

One of Sam's hands found its way between his woman's thick, brown thighs, pushing aside her lace panties. He reluctantly released his thumb from her mouth to swipe his fingers across her moist slit, landing on her throbbing clit. Mercedes shivered at the touch, gripping his shoulders to remain steady as Sam slipped two digits inside of her. Slowly plunging in and out of her to elicit her tortured moans of pleasure. With her eyes shut so tight, Mercedes saw colors beyond the black and white shadows of the storm through the window, but the red and purples and blues of rapture.

Sam spurred on her pleasure, "That's it, love. This is all for you. Take it."

And she did.

Leaning her head on his shoulder, Mercedes murmured wildly into his neck, thankful for his gracious touch and the fact that it was meant for her. However, as the third finger entered her and curved upwards, those murmurings altered into unruly howls goaded by the doting pinches of her clit. Mercedes cried against Sam's mouth in reverie, riding his fingers until she reached her release; rivaling the rain with its blissful clamor. Sam continued to stroke her little bundle of nerves as her essence trickled down his forearm. With her eyes glazed over and her mouth agape in a lustful pant, Mercedes croaked out, "Sammy, you're my king."

Sam took his fingers from inside of his lady's cordial walls to caress the apple of her cheek. Her cream mingling with her bashful rouge, and rested his forehead with hers.

"You're my queen, love. Always."

His lips parted for a passionate kiss. Their tongues tangled in a rough dance for dominance. Mercedes grew tired. When he felt her breath even, Sam laid Mercedes length-wise on the couch, resting his jacket on top of her placid body. A gentle kiss to her forehead and Sam headed towards the door. He jiggled Mercedes' keys with the gold heart keychain out of the lock, and tried his best to softly close the door behind him. A useless feat with the piercing thunder underway.

The loud patter of rain eclipsed by the mechanic whirrings of the garage door opening and closing. The town car looked pristine thanks to the rain's baptism. The interior, the same. Sam's hand shook slightly as he unlocked the trunk. He let out a deep, disappointed sigh as he studied the mangled body sprawled atop the spare tire. He swept the long blonde hair out of her face, revealing her blue puckered lips and the silver chain dangling out of them. With a ginger tug, Sam pulled the chain out of her mouth, and on display was the full silver locket he'd given her at lunch that afternoon.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," Sam whispered futilely in the young woman's ear.

Out of inclination, Sam went to the workbench, retrieving a tarp and some rope. He'd done this before, but not in such a time crunch. He took his time as he laid her down and wrapped her body in the tarp. Tying her up with the Cubs Scout knots his dad would be so proud that he had remembered.

Mercedes always gushed about how beautiful the lake looked at night, with the moon bouncing off of the water. And with the sky finally clearing up, Sam could not help but pause and agree. This would have been a great spot to propose to Mercedes, after a romantic candlelight dinner. A stroll through the park. Getting down on one knee on the dock. Then, happy tears illuminated in the pale moonlight. She would have eaten that shit up. But alas, once again, they had to find another town to call home and fast. And Quinn's body wasn't getting any lighter in that rowboat.

Once in the middle of the lake, Sam gave one last pat to her body in remorse and shoved her over the side. One good plop and she was drifting towards the bottom. "_She deserved better than this"_, he thought as he rowed his way back toward the dock.

Sam returned home to discover Mercedes already nestled in his favorite bathrobe, nursing a cup of tea. Her hair up and her face bright, as if free from any horrible thoughts or impulses.

"You feeling better?" Sam inquired.

"Much," Mercedes chirped as she hopped off of the couch to greet him with a loving kiss. Sam licked his plump lips at the taste of honey from her mouth.

Mercedes took his hands and led him to have a seat, swiftly resting her legs upon his lap. With his arms wrapped around her, and Mercedes' head nestled against his chest, the moment felt deliciously domestic. That is until Sam palmed her thigh where bruises were still fresh, and the reminders of the evening were still very real. He did not want to know the details. He just wanted his girl to be all right, and at the sight of the luggage against the coffee table, Sam knew that in the morning, everything would be just that.

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**I know this story was super random, and kinda short. It was just in my head. Again, if you liked it or hated it write a review, PM me or totally ignore me, that works too. I actually prefer that. :)**


	2. Chapter 2 - Sign Here

**Chapter Two: Sign Here **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. A rabid squirrel would treat those characters better than its current owners. Please excuse any mistakes and if reviews are your thing, you know what to do.**

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She wanted to flirt with him. She just needed one good phrase. One good phrase to get his attention. One good phrase to let him know that she wasn't messing around. That she wanted him.

She could've sworn he was flirting with her last week. She personally walked over to his table with the diner's last slice of cherry cheesecake and a can of whipped cream. His mohawked friend kept arguing with him about which superhero had the better cape, and with so much commotion, their lunches were left cold.

She sashayed her way towards their table, wanting him to watch her spray the dollop of whipped cream on the dessert. Their conversation seemed intense, so she figured that would bring him a smile. The mohawked gentleman, whom she learned from his credit card was Noah Puckerman, always spoke for the both of them. But this time, her blond crush mouthed a "Thank you." She was so shocked that he even noticed her that she was struck mute for a moment, even slightly losing her balance when she notice that he winked. Those green eyes and pouty smirk were going to be the death of her.

Every Tuesday, he and Noah would come in and sit in the same tiny blue booth in the back of the Lima Grill; her section. She longed for the days of the classic diner uniform of the short dress with her name stitched above the breast. Those black jeans and polo shirt were doing nothing for her curvaceous figure.

This time, she swayed over toward the two men with a put upon fierceness, dessert in tow. She made it in time for the tail end of their conversation and Noah's proclamation, "Even if you were Wolverine, you could possibly have the 'nads to fight people with your blades. You'd probably just use 'em to make the kids' sandwiches and shit."

The young waitress placed the cheesecake in front of the blond with a glowing smile plastered on her face. "Here you go. It's our seasonal favorite, pumpkin."

"We didn't order this, babe." Noah gripped.

"I know. It's on the house." She retorted.

Without pause, Noah exclaimed with delight, "Sweet! Free food," and dived his fork into the blond's pumpkin cheesecake.

The girl's face faltered, something that did not go unnoticed by the plump-lipped young man, equally disappointed in his friend's greediness. He mouthed a "Thank you" her way. The waitress' brown doe-eyes brightened, and she stilled herself to think of the correct response. She finally remembered, and with great enthusiasm, motioned her hands to sign, "You're welcome." She caught the giant smile that stretched across his ample lips at her actions and figured she would quit while she was ahead; spinning on her heels and heading back towards the front counter. She facepalmed herself when she had to return to his table. Ruining her killer exit, she handed Noah the bill from her front apron pocket. "You can just take care of that when you're ready."

She lowered her head as she walked away, but this time she could feel a pair of eyes following her as she went to towel down the dessert display. At that moment she was grateful her chocolate skin would adequately mask the blush creeping up into her cheeks.

"Do you have change for a twenty?" She heard the intoned voice.

She looked up from wiping down the counter. "I beg your pardon?" She raised her head. "Oh." It was him.

"I was gonna leave this as a tip, but my friend Puck said that was way too much for just having gravy fries."

"Well, your friend's a dick," she muttered.

"He's more of an asshole, but yeah."

She grimaced in embarrassment, quickly realizing he understood her. "Shit." She recalled the sign for "Sorry" and performed it repeatedly. "I'm so so so sorry. I didn't know you could hear me."

He shook his head. "I can read your lips."

She was disappointed in her obliviousness, though it never registered with her crush across the counter.

"Do you know ASL?" Sam signed, already knowing the answer.

"'Do I…'" She translated out loud to herself. "'Do I… know… A…S…L?' No! No. I—I'm learning though."

"Why? Is your boyfriend deaf?" He inquired.

She smiled at his forwardness. "No. Well, I don't have a boyfriend."

Without missing a beat, "I'm Sam. Sam, I am." He offered his hand over the counter, which she hungrily accepted. She used her other hand to point to her tilted name badge, "Mercedes." He mouthed her name, and she nodded in affirmation.

"You're off tomorrow, right?"

Mercedes furrowed her brow in confusion. Realizing her concern, Sam answered himself, "Puck and I came here on a Wednesday and you weren't in your section."

"Oh. Then, yes." She couldn't believe he remembered her schedule or her section.

"Well, if you're free, maybe you could come by my studio. There's always pizza… and me. I'll be there all day."

Overcoming her initial dismay, the petite waitress grinned and spelled out a quick "O.K." with her free hand. A disarmingly sweet lopsided grin broadcasted his elation.

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow." Sam slid over the restaurant bill and the twenty dollars. As Mercedes went to get change, he stopped her with a simple headshake. He walked towards the door where Noah, or "Puck" as Mercedes just learned, waited impatiently.

Realizing he hadn't given her an address, Mercedes shouted rather uselessly at Sam's oblivious back as it walked out of the door. The swift feeling of defeat was eclipsed by the joy of a four hundred percent tip on a basket of gravy fries. She noticed a small business card resting on top of the bill with a zonked-out zombie illustrated on the front. She flipped it over to see "Sam Evans, Graphic Artist" and his address.

The next day, when she pulled up to the address, Mercedes was certain she was at the wrong place. It was a warehouse on the edge of Lima, that she was sure as a teenager she and a few friends had attacked with empty beer bottles. She was caught between exhilaration and trepidation. She'd spent most of the night and morning practicing phrases that she might have to use, and a good two hours settling on a pair of tight jeans and blouse that persistently fell off of her shoulder. With unsteady legs, Mercedes reached the front door and wondered how this was going to work. Her first instinct was to knock, and afterwards felt like an idiot. She noticed the doorbell, figured what the hell, and rang it. To her surprise the lights in the surrounding windows flickered, and before she could catch her bearings, the door swung open.

"I can't believe you knocked." Sam laughed.

Mercedes would be annoyed if it weren't for the sight of the handsome blond in his muscle-hugging henley. He had clearly watched her through the window during her anxiety-ridden trek from her car to the door. Sam grabbed her hand, and yanked her into the building. It was sparse and massive, with boxes stacked everywhere and a printing press at its centerpiece. Mercedes was immediately drawn to the press, wanting to touch it and press buttons like a little kid would. She turned to him in excitement, "What do you do?"

Sam squinted his eyes and frowned his lips. "Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me?"

Mercedes looked perplexed.

"Robert De Niro." Sam informed her, only to be met with a silly "No."

"Alright, we self-publish our own comic books. Puck and myself and a few of our friends. And we get 'em into stores across the state."

"This may be the may be the coolest thing I've ever seen."

"You wanna print something out?"

Mercedes couldn't contain the exuberant squeal that escaped her mouth, clapping and jumping in glee. She composed herself and replied with a simple nod of her fist in affirmation. Sam was more than pleased with her response, and led her to the front of the machine.

"There's already something in the there. Just press the buttons."

Mercedes looked up to make sure she was doing it properly. Sam nodded her towards the correct set of buttons. She pressed them and the machine came alive. And just as anticlimactically turned off, sputtering out a single sheet of paper. She leapt towards it, her mouth agape in astonishment. "What is this?" She lifted and examined the page.

"The cover for our latest issue."

"Mercedes the Merciful," she read. Sprawled before her was an intense drawing of Mercedes in a ripped and revealing version of her waitress uniform, using her serving tray to slide off the head of a zombie patron. She quickly turned to him and beamed. "This is amazing," she signed. She ran to him and kissed his cheek. "No one's ever done something like this for me before." Thinking she overstepped with the peck, Mercedes paced back and resolved everything with "You're very talented."

"So are you," Sam replied. Mercedes scoffed.

"You just… you've got this inner light. The way you are with people. With your customers. They're all just so happy to see you. Plus, you always have my order memorized."

"That's because you alternate between the same three appetizers. I'm not talented. You're just predictable."

Sam motioned around the room. "Is this predictable?"

"No. It's absolutely wonderful," she said with zero enthusiasm.

"Fine, then. So what _is _your talent?" Sam probed.

An ironic chuckle crept out in Mercedes' response. "Singing. I can sing."

"I bet you're amazing."

Refusing all modesty, "Yeah. I'm pretty good."

Sam folded his arms. "Sing me something."

"I can't sing you a song. I mean, I could but…"

"Just sing me a fucking song! Please." Sam intoned with that deadly smirk.

"So rude." Sam shrugged. "Fine." Mercedes cleared her throat and sighed, allowing the first song in her head to roll off of her tongue.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are gray_

_You'll never know, dear, how much I love you_

_So please don't take my sunshine away._

Sam applauded wildly. "The most awesome song I've never heard. Now let's eat." He walked away, leaving Mercedes to hurry behind him and catch up. Towards the back of the warehouse was a room set aside. A small apartment, homey and palatial. On a kitchen island were stacks of empty pizza boxes.

"I wasn't lying about the pizza."

Sam motioned for her to have a seat on the couch. She obliged.

"You never answered my question," Sam remembered.

"What?"

"Why are you learning sign language?" He asked, sitting dangerously close to her.

Mercedes deflected, "So I can be my own interpreter at all of those sold-out bus station performances."

"Do you want me to teach you a few signs?"

She nodded, "Sure."

"Alright. Just do what I do. Okay?" Sam's long pale fingers curved into a few basic signals. Mercedes watched him diligently and slowly replicated his movements over and over again.

Sam finally ascribed the meaning to each sign. "Can. I. Kiss. You?"

Mercedes mindlessly repeated aloud, performing the corresponding signs. "Can. I. Kiss. You?"

"Of course," Sam replied. And before she knew it, one of the hands she was watching so closely clasped the back of her neck and pressed her forward into a tender kiss. He sucked in his lips to taste the gloss that had transferred from hers.

"You ass." She smiled and pushed herself into another kiss that landed Sam on his back, wedging him between the cushions. His hands roamed her back, cautious not to grip the areas that he longed for. However, Mercedes was not as mindful. Consuming his plush, pink pout, she decided to retreat and allow her tongue to travel down his neck. Sam swiped his kissing partner's hair to the side for better access to her shoulder, which he nipped and sealed with a precious lick. She moaned in appreciation of Sam's gradually immodest hands cupping her breasts. She kissed his cheek, pecking her way to the tip of his ear, which she greeted with a gentle tug of her teeth. Licking his lobe, Mercedes paused at the taste of hard plastic.

"Is that a hearing aid?" Mercedes asked. Sam bobbed his head.

Her curiosity flourished, along with surprise. "Can… can you hear me?"

"I can hear echoes mostly. Sirens sometimes. Your voice is… faint. But it's lovely."

"You don't wear it at the diner, when you're with Puck."

"Would _you_ wanna hear Puck?"

Mercedes smiled and shook her head.

"I have a system," Sam divulged.

"What kind of system?"

"If you like what I'm doing, pat my back. I mean, literally, pat me on the back. If you don't or you want me to stop, you just grab my hands. Whatever you want, I'll do. Okay?"

Processing what he said, Mercedes slowly nodded. "O—O—Okay." She was taken aback by his instructions and the dark look in his peridot eyes. If only he knew, whatever he wanted _she_ would do. Sam bit his bottom lip, a small gesture to control his huge impulse.

"Kiss me," Mercedes signed more confident than before. He sprung at her orders, devouring any lip gloss that had carelessly remained on her pillowy lips. A hand returned to their cushioned spot cupping her breast. Sam seized when she grabbed his hand.

"I'm sorry," He demurred.

Mercedes coyly shook her head and placed his hand on the button of her jeans. She licked at his lips until they allowed her entry, as Sam's hands fiddled with her jeans until they allowed his. Sam dropped to the floor on his knees, pulling her pant legs down with him. She wiggled the rest of her way out, and pulled his face back to hers, unable to get enough of his kisses. Only breaking the kiss to liberate each other of their shirts. Mercedes gleamed at his taut, muscular torso, and allowed her hands to self-consciously trail down his abs. This time, she was met with a tug of the wrist, as Sam lowered her small umber fingers to the fly of his jeans.

He gestured, "I want you." A set of signs that Mercedes understood completely. In fact, it was the first phrase she had taught herself. And with that, she hastily took Sam out of his jeans and boxer briefs. His thick, hard member was even more impressive than the printing press. She didn't know where to begin, and decided upon a soft, measured kiss to his tip. She was taken aback when he pulled away from her, only to watch him push back the apple crates he called a coffee table. Before she could ask, Sam grabbed her by her expansive hips and dragged her onto his lap on the surface rug. She gripped his shoulders for leverage to assist him in taking off her boy shorts.

"_This is actually happening!_" played continually in her mind in all exclamation points, when Sam laid her down on the floor; having her wet center straddle his stomach. He gave her ass a hearty smack, shocking herself when she whimpered in delight. Sam squeezed her luscious, pliable thighs as a gesture to move farther up his body. His mouth, the destination.

"Wait." Mercedes thought for a moment and reversed her position, giving Sam a glorious view of the behind that he'd spent months staring at in a daze, as it walked away to place his order. He situated her drenched netherlips atop his face. The first taste propelled his preejaculate, which Mercedes went to work devouring. Each stride Mercedes attempted was thwarted by Sam and his magical tongue. Her focus was nonexistent, and Mercedes quickly realized Sam wanted it that way. She was determined to fight off that familiar build-up in her abdomen and took him into her mouth. She reluctantly had to release his cock at the feeling of him sucking on her clit. She couldn't very well scream his name with her mouth full.

"Fuck, Sam!" She turned her head, trying to figure out how to pat him on the back. He placed a death grip on her hips as she spasmed. Her cream was all the pat on the back he needed.

Sam unwillingly let her crawl off of him. Mercedes tried to collect herself, but made the mistake of glimpsing that adorable face with his disheveled golden locks, lustful eyes and cum-drenched chin.

Mercedes panted, "Where's your bed?"

Sam got off of the floor. He held out his hand and helped her up. Lacing his fingers with hers, he led her to the bed.

"I'll be right back." He kissed their joined hands. Sam took out his hearing aids and placed them on his nightstand, before heading to the bathroom.

Mercedes swam in the nice, cool sheets, tempering her body, which was on fire from the mere thought of Sam's touch. She closed her eyes, thinking of all those nights her body would remain restless until imaginings of his lips and his touch lulled her to sleep. The way her heart would leap at the realization of a Tuesday morning. His kindness. His humor. His everything. Her crush had morphed into something else, not just lust.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by a set of arms wrapping themselves around her full waist, and the gentle kisses on her back. She savored this moment of closeness, leaning back into his snuggle. He nibbled her neck.

"Are you ready for me, beautiful?" Sam taunted. Mercedes looked behind her and gave him a tempestuous nod.

Sam lifted her chin and gave her a passionate kiss, as he hoisted her leg and took her from behind. Mercedes gasped at the fullness, clenching her fists to contain herself.

After a few moments of adjustment, he asked, "You want me to keep going?" She nodded her fist, and with that he slowly drove in and out of her. With each pump, Mercedes felt ascension. She latched her lips onto his neck for him to feel the vibrations of her grateful moans. She moved to his rhythm, hinting for him to go faster, and he did.

Within moments, Sam had her with her ass in the air and her face driving into the pillows. That inescapable feeling of contentment filled the room, and then she heard him. "You feel so good, Mercedes. So fucking good."

He said her name.

That simple act and she came undone. She felt free. She felt bliss. She felt… love. Maybe it was too soon, but she felt it.

Her orgasm crashed into her with an overjoyed, "Oh god, Sam! I love you! I love you so much!" She shut her eyes, mortified at her own emotional revelation, and yet somewhat relieved that his hearing aids were on the nightstand.

Sam choked out his peak, kissing up and down her back. He carefully pulled himself out of her, he kissed the corner of her ear and breathed, "I love you, too."

Mercedes' eyes flew open to see the hearing aids no longer on the nightstand. She looked up at Sam and that smirk, and muttered to herself, "Well son of a bitch." She smiled and grabbed him for a kiss, refusing to ever let him go.

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**I'm gonna be honest with you, I don't know where this came from. A friend of mine wanted fluff, and this about as fluffy as I'm gonna get. Hell, this may even be the smuttiest I'll ever get. I mean, seriously, what was that? Anyways, yay or nay, have your say.**


	3. Chapter 3 - Born Free

**Chapter Three: Born Free **

**A/N: Thanks for all of the follows and messages. I didn't realize folks could be so vocal. Thank you so much for reading, because I've never done this before. Also, please note that none of these one-shots are related to each other unless specifically stated. Like the show itself, I'm too lazy to care about story continuity. **

**And since you guys seemed to really like "Sign Here," I'm making it a full story. So look for the second chapter of that to be posted shortly.**

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He didn't know her when the sacks were thrown over their heads. But by the time they got into the van, they were each other's life source. Sam's heart pounded like a jackrabbit in his chest, unsure of what was happening. Oddly enough, he was grateful for the cloth bag over his head, masking his trembling features.

He was signing a voter up for an election mailing list outside of the Hummel campaign headquarters, and the next thing he knew, he and the girl were tackled from behind. What was her name again?

"Mercedes?" He called. He heard a soft whimper in response.

He turned his head to the sound. "Don't cry, Mercedes. Don't cry. It'll be all-" WHACK! A swift anonymous jab to the gut shut him up.

Sam's mind raced when the van stopped, and he heard the door slide open. He questioned his fate beyond that door, panicked at the sound of a gun cocking. He felt Mercedes tense up beside him. With his hands tied behind his back, Sam sought to comfort her by rubbing his knee against hers. Her hushed sob was her thank you.

He thought to speak to her. Abductors or not, with the sack over his head, Sam could pretend it was only him and her in the world. He barely uttered "Mer-" before he felt them take her away.

She cried out for him, "Help me! Please! Don't make me go! I don't wanna go!" He knew they hit her the same as they hit him, and he was livid.

The men stepped on his heels as they led him to the next location. Sam saw this as his chance. Perhaps appeal to their better nature. "Look, you can have anything you want. My wallet, whatever. Just please, let us go. Let _her_ go."

He was met with an abrasive shove, and crashed into the cold hard concrete. They had made it inside. The sack was ripped off of him and he found darkness. His eyes tried to adjust to no avail, as he heard feet scamper up a flight of stairs.

"Mer—Mercedes?" He flinched, expecting a jab. Nothing.

"Sam?" She called, her voice babied by fear.

Sam rolled onto his knees, trying to get his bearings with his hands still tied. "Mercedes? Where are you?"

"Sam?" Her voice strengthened. Sam crawled towards it, only to crash into a warm body.

"I'm sorry," Sam humbled.

His eyes shut tight when the bright, fluorescent lights turned on overhead. He blinked furiously and warmed at the sight of the dark-skinned girl resting against the wall, who didn't share his smile. He soon looked down at the body in front of him. Petite, pale and lifeless.

"Kurt! Oh god!" Sam used his chin to nudge him. "Kurt, wake up, buddy."

Mercedes' doe eyes welled with tears. She kneeled into the wall, clearly shaken.

Sam shouted towards the wooden staircase. "We need help, you assholes! He's dying here! Get help!"

He was stunned when the door actually opened. Two men in black turtlenecks and plastic U.S. president masks clobbered down the stairs—the tall one was George W. Bush and the olive-skinned one was Bill Clinton. Neither acknowledged Sam, as the tall one went to Kurt. The other's eyes widened inside of the Clinton mask and got in Sam's face. From the inside of his boot, Clinton pulled out a retractable knife. The blade sprung up in front of him, causing the blond to jerk. Clinton's eyes smiled beneath the mask. Sam blinked his way into composure. Clinton rose up and walked towards Mercedes with his knife gripped hungrily.

"Please…" Sam pleaded lowly.

Clinton grabbed Mercedes by the plastic ties around her wrists and cut them off. She immediately held herself in the fetal position. Rocking herself back and forth. As Clinton made his way over to Sam, Bush stood with his gun pointed at the three hostages. His hands large and unsteady. Sam felt the cuffs get cut off, and rubbed his redden wrists to ease the pain of their once tight grip. Clinton lifted Kurt's body and headed towards the stairs, as Bush backed away slowly, eyeing the two on the floor.

Sam waited for the door to close before he leapt for Mercedes. He held her and she gladly accepted. He would rock back and forth for the both of them.

"What do they want? Who was the guy on the floor? Where are we? What's happening?" Mercedes rambled out her questions through each snivel, and Sam tried desperately to answer each one of them.

"Um, I don't know what they want. That guy was Kurt Hummel."

"Burt's son?"

Sam nodded, "I think they wanted him. Maybe we were just… there. I'm so sorry."

"What for?"

"For making you listen to my speechifying. If I hadn't stopped you-"

"I liked your speechifying."

Sam chuckled, which he soon regretted with the sudden pain in his ribs.

"Are you alright?" Mercedes inquired.

Sam smiled through the pain, and pledged his wellness. He spied the room. The concrete walls and boarded up corner windows out of reach. They were in a basement. And possibly a Lifetime movie. The room was sparse and desolate, save for a dry-rotted mattress. It was a room under construction with paneling and wooden beams everywhere. Thank god for the toilet in the corner.

Worrying had tired them both out, as they nodded off in each other's arms on the concrete floor. Sam's eyes flew open at the deafening sound of the door being unlocked. Down the stairs came two women in masks—one Ronald Reagan and the other was Richard Nixon. The blonde was Nixon. She didn't seem to care about the mystique, allowing her hair to peak under the mask. However, Reagan was committed, almost like she was playing a role that she needed to get just right. Same black turtlenecks and boots. Reagan gracefully lowered a tray of food in front of the weary guests. Tomato soup, and from what Sam could smell, week-old breadsticks.

Mercedes gave them a grateful "Thank you."

What was more shocking was Nixon's "You're welcome." Even Reagan turned to her in disbelief. Her voice was soft and thoughtful beneath the mask.

They didn't see Nixon anymore after that.

In fact, they didn't see anyone much after that. Sam could not tell you what day it was, or what time. In fact, he missed the sun. But every once in a while, some would throw down food. No longer soup and breadsticks, but chips, Doritos and candy bars.

After a while, Mercedes convinced Sam to sleep on the mattress with her. He had taken the floor. She grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the cushion. With their backs facing each other, he heard her weeping again, and his instinct was to hold her, but thought she'd want that time to herself.

Sam woke up to Clinton in his face with a gun in his hand. Sam sprung up, waking Mercedes up in the process, who grabbed his arm in fear.

Clinton shoved a notepad and a mark at Sam. The blond's eyes focused on the words. "**Write down your bank account number.**"

Sam looked up. "Where's Kurt?" Sam demanded.

Clinton cocked the gun, but Sam didn't flinch. He asked again, "Where's Kurt?"

The flustered assailant took the mark and the bottom of the notepad wrote, "**ALIVE.**"

Sam thought he'd try his luck, "Where?"

This time, Clinton shook his head and pointed to the words on the page again. Sam relented and took the marker. His hand shook as the tip of the marker traced the page. His eyes squinted. He tried to focus, but his nerves got the best of him. He was comforted by the small, brown hand that wrapped around his. Mercedes took the marker from him, along with the pad.

"Why don't you whisper it in my ear, okay? And I'll write it down." She offered. The first sentences she'd uttered without a lump in her throat since they'd arrived. Sam hesitantly nodded.

"Good." Mercedes said in a calm, meditative fashion. She leaned her ear towards him. Sam looked back at the Clinton mask, who nodded him to go on. Sam bent towards Mercedes' war and whispered, as she diligently wrote down the numbers. She handed Clinton the marker and pad, which snatched from her, stood down and went back up the stairs.

Sam let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. "God, I'm sorry."

Mercedes shushed him, rubbing slow circles on his back. "It's fine, Sam."

"It's just—I'm dyslexic, and I've been able to handle it since I was a kid. But right then, with him and the gun…"

"You were scared." Mercedes empathized.

Sam collapsed his head into his hands, in tears. He nodded, but too abashed to look at her.

"We're supposed to be scared. We're human."

"I don't wanna be human." Sam muttered. He faltered into Mercedes' arms, sobbing for the first time.

**_Main Street, days earlier_**

_Sam saw her walking down the street in jeans and a t-shirt with the Captain America shield like his mom had bough him. He stood there in his nicest suit from his closet, with his clipboard in tow and a "Hummel/Evans" sticker for anyone who wanted one._

_He blocked her path with two steps and a charming smile. "Excuse me, miss. I'd like to talk to you about freedom."_

_"What?"_

_"Freedom. Our liberties on this spinning orb. And how Burt Hummel and my dad Dwight Evans will greatly change the course of Ohio with Burt in the governor's house. Can I just have a moment of your time?"_

_Mercedes huffed, "Look, my parents are already gonna vote from Sylvester and Schuester. So, I'm just gonna follow their lead on that one." She began to walk away._

_"Wait, please. The Sue/ Schue ticket is promising more chain stores in small towns like Lima, to supposedly up employment and consumer spending in the state. But they're neglecting small businesses elsewhere. Great, independently owned stores like Crosstown Comics over there on Magnolia."_

_Mercedes smiled, "What makes you think I go to Crosstown Comics?"_

_Sam glanced at the shield across Mercedes' chest._

_She asked self-consciously, "My—my boobs?"_

_Sam looked horrified. "God, no. Not—I mean, not to say people with boobs can't like comics. My Uncle Spike buys comics all of the time. It's just—I assumed…"_

_Mercedes laughed through the whole thing, "I'm just messing with you, Sam."_

_Sam looked confused._

_"I know you from Burt and your dad's ads on tv. He's super hot, by the way."_

_"Thank you?" Sam didn't know how to respond._

_She leaned in, like she was sharing a secret. "I'm voting Burt. I planned on it anyway." She shrugged._

_Sam beamed, and handed her the clipboard. "Well here. We can put you on the mailing list. E-mail you any news or fundraisers. Only important stuff, I promise."_

_Mercedes took the clipboard from him and wrote fastidiously. "Would you like my phone number too?" She asked with a coquettish smirk._

_"Um… that would be very nice, as well." A shy grin belied his handsome features._

_She handed him back the clipboard, to which Sam scanned the information. "Mercedes Jones."_

_"That's my name."_

_"Well Mercedes, I'm Sam Evans and I would like to take you to dinner."_

_"As long as it's not Breadstix, I'd love to."_

_"Then it's a date."_

_Their hands met in an affirming handshake when they were blindsided by the two men with sacks._

Sam laid on his back, consuming his share of Cool Ranch Doritos, as Mercedes tried to figure out if she liked salt and vinegar potato chips. She didn't.

"You think anyone's looking for us?" Mercedes pondered.

"I know my dad is. And I'm sure your dad is."

Mercedes unleashed a bemused chuckle. "Yeah, that's a nice thought."

Sam lean up, "You don't think your dad's looking for you?"

"I'm not the bottom of a beer bottle, so I doubt it." From that answer, he could tell she wanted to change the subject.

Mercedes jumped up. A bit perky. "How about we play a game?"

"What kind of game?"

"How about two lies, one truth? I tell you three facts about myself, and you guess the truth."

Sam gushed, "I know how it works."

"Well excuse me. Then you go first." The way she smiled at him, he would have done anything she wanted.

"Um… my middle name's Paul. My hair's actually red. And… I've never gone trick-or-treating." He was amused when she tried to read his face, as bruised as it must have been, and spot the truth.

"Let's see. Your middle name can't be Paul, because that would be just disappointing."

"Hey!"

Mercedes shrugged.

"And your hair…"

Sam became self-conscious and touched a few of his blond tresses. "What about my hair?"

"It's gorgeous. But those roots aren't capable of the majestic wonder that is red hair. So… oh my god, you've never gone trick or treating?"

Sam sucked in his embarrassment. "No, I haven't."

"Are your parents mountain folk?"

"No, no. When I was a kid, we couldn't afford costumes, and I was always too embarrassed to have my mom make me one. So I just never did it. My parents started making money when it was my siblings' turn. Once they were old enough to do it, I was too old, and then my parents took 'em."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard. When we get out of here, I'm taking you trick or treating. I'll be… Storm. And you can be Wolverine."

Sam liked this kind of talk. Hew knew what she was doing—getting their minds off of their current situation, and for a moment, it was working. "Your turn," he instructed.

"Let's see… my favorite color is sea foam green. I'm not a registered voter. And… I once went on a date with Cooper Anderson." She smiled brightly.

Sam attempted to mimic her guessing face, scanning her body for clues. "Well… your toes are painted purple."

"Violet crush, thank you very much."

"Violet crush." He corrected himself. "I say the lie is Cooper Anderson."

Mercedes shook her head. "When I was 16, I won a radio contest. He took me to the Sugar Shack. Kissed me right here." She proudly pointed to her button nose.

Sam's amusement soon morphed into puzzlement. "Wait, so you're not a registered voter?"

Mercedes innocently bit her the inside of her lip. "You were cute. And you kept talking so… I'm sorry, Sam."

"I do tend to talk a lot."

"That, you do."

"Even now, I'm just blabbing on and on. It's just, I can't stand the quiet, Mercy." He paused. He didn't men to give her a nickname. But they were already friendly, and who know how long they would be down there. A nickname didn't hurt anyone. So, Mercy, it was.

Mercedes smirked, noticing it too. "I like hearing you talk, Sam. You can say whatever you want whenever you want."

That time, she slept in his arms. Her head nuzzled against his chest. Her arm draped across his stomach. Sam got so bold as to rest his hand on top of here before drifting off to sleep.

When Sam awoke, he was different. Motivated. He eyed the nailed windows that were cruelly out of reach, and was determined to come up with a plan. He climbed up the bathroom paneling until he could reach the wood, gripping at the edges to rip at it. One hard tug, and Sam lost his balance. He fell from the great height onto the cement floor. His head bounced with a smack, and then… darkness.

His eyes opened to her angelic face in tears. His head throbbed. His eyes burned and adjusted, soon noticing the sight of the man in the Clinton mask.

"Mercedes?" Sam croaked out.

Clinton leapt at him, grabbing Sam by his shirt and lifting him off of the ground.

"Do you think this is a fucking game?" Clinton gruffed. Sam's eyes widened at the first sound of his voice. "The fuck to you think you're doing, bro? You get out of here when I damn well please. And if that's in a body bag, well then so fucking be it." He punctuated the last few words with punches to Sam's already tender face and abdomen.

Mercedes reached out for him, only to be met with her own swift backhanded slap to the face. Clinton returned to his assault of Sam, lifting the blond's aching body and dropping him back down on the floor. Sam, resilient, tried to get up, but the masked man shoved him back down.

"Stay. The. Fuck. Down." Clinton stomped back up the stairs.

Sam slid down the wall. Coughing. He was spent and defeated. Mercedes rushed to his side. The blood on his face began to cloud his vision, but he could have swoon she had taken off her t-shirt and there was an adorable polka-dotted bra before him. Mercedes dragged him to the mattress, resting her shirt as a pillow beneath his head.

"You're gonna be just fine, Sam Evans."

Mercedes went to get up, but he instinctually reached for her, not wanting her to go. Where would she go anyway? It's not like she could leave. But she stayed and laid with him, caressing his face. She wiped away the blood and kissed his cheeks. A soft prayer of "We'll be okay" murmured repeatedly under her breath.

He palmed her cheek through the haze and brushed it fondly. Mercedes smoothed her hand and leaned into his touch. The simple, sweet action had him at half-mast. Mortified, he closed his eyes and counted to ten, wanting to will it away. That's when he felt her kiss. Her full, plump lips attached themselves to his pink pout, cracked and marred. His immediate shock made way for need. He _needed _to feast upon her bottom lip. He _needed_ her chubby thighs to straddle his waist. He _needed_ to feel her. All of her. They were in this together. Completely. His hands roamed her back until he reached the clasp of her bra. He didn't want to go too far, but his fingers were itching for her skin.

"Free me, Sammy." She whispered in his ear. And with that, Mercedes was dissolved of her bra. Her chocolate peaks there for his consumption. He latched on to a nipple with such yearning and dedication, that he had to apologize for the grim teeth marks.

She giggled and helped him remove his clothes, dirty from constant wear in the dusty basement. To Sam it was funny, being completely exposed in front of Mercedes was the most he felt protected. And there she was above him, the fluorescent light hung overhead like a halo. She played with his stiff manhood, allowing it to tease her warm, wet entrance. His tip so close to the promised land that he almost couldn't take it. That was when she sat on his erection, filling herself to the hilt and gasping in her fullness. He watched in astonishment as she palmed her breasts with her eyes closed. Slowly rocking her hips back and forth. She was beautiful. He grabbed her exquisite ass, and lifted her slowly up and down his thick shaft.

If the knot on his head made him black out, then the clench of her walls would put him in a coma. But all that would mean is never-ending dreams of her. Thrusting up towards his bliss, he let out a booming groan, which Mercedes kissed to absorb.

"We have to be quiet," she breathed against his lips, immediately breaking her own rule when he thumbed her clit. He shushed her proudly.

Sam needed her to come first, realizing they didn't have protection. He needed to be soaked in her cream before he pulled out, which had to be soon. Mercedes' mouth never left him as she continued to ride him. Faster. And faster. And faster. Her soft moans became smothered howls that he greedily accepted with his tongue until she cried his name. Her soft body shook above him in violent elation. He got his cream.

He hated having to move her, but he need to come. She lifted herself just in time for him to explode on his stomach. Sam leaned to crawl off the mattress and clean himself off, but she grabbed his waist and tongued down his tan abs until they were no longer sticky. He took face again for a bruising a kiss.

Sam awoke with indescribable pain. His head throbbed and his eyes saw static. But she was still there in his arms, and he wanted her more than anything in the world. They needed to get out of there. He stood below the boarded up window. It mocked him. He started to kick the wooden beams encasing the half-bath. Kick for kick, they started to loosen. He pulled and leveraged and used all of his strength until the first beam came down. He was ecstatic.

"What are you doing?" Sam turned to see his lover in his dress shirt, leaning against the sink. He grabbed her in an embrace and kissed her madly.

He smiled like a man with hope, "I'm getting us out of here. I can make it to the window. The edge of the broken beam can pry the nailed-down wood. You and me, we can get out of here. We can go on that date. We can play skeeball, whatever. You don't have to worry anymore, Mercy."

Mercedes fretted with her bottom lip. "Are you sure, Sammy?"

He could tell she was nervous. "Do you trust me?"

She nodded emphatically.

"Alright. I'm gonna climb to the top, and when I do, I need you the hand me the beam. Got it?"

"Okay." She kissed him one last time.

He stretched and laughed to himself.

"What?" She asked.

"When we met, you said you knew me from my dad's campaign ad. But when you saw Kurt, you didn't know him and he was in the same ad."

"That is weird." Mercedes replied.

Sam started up the paneling.

"Hey, Sam?"

He turned towards his girl and found a beam to the face instead.

Sam opened his eyes, after god knows how long, to her face. It was propped in a black turtleneck. Bush and Clinton were behind her.

Mercedes winced, "It's complicated, Sammy."

"Don't call me that." He was dazed, but he wasn't stupid.

"You're right. I'm sorry. About your head more than anything."

_"What about my heart?"_ He thought.

"This is a last resort, really. You see, campaigns cost money. Kurt didn't perform well under pressure, so we had to… dispose of him. Now poor Burt is a mess. Wants to end the campaign with a few dollars in his pocket. Which, I personally think is the noble thing to do. However, his running mate thinks they should 'persevere.' Whatever the hell that means.

It finally clicked for him, "You work for Sue."

"The great state of Ohio stamps my paycheck," Mercedes replied.

"You're a lackey."

Mercedes shook her head and pointed to the two men behind her. "These are lackeys. I'm a… mediator. "

"What do you want? Money? You can have money?"

"There's money. And then there's a lot of money. You're gonna help us get the latter."

"Are you gonna kill me?" Sam wondered aloud, though inside he was already dead.

"No one wants that, Sam." She said sincerely. Mercedes took a deep breath. "We've been talking to your father, and apparently he has a backbone. Doesn't bend to threats. But, he'll listen to you. Talk him down. Make him listen. Get them to drop out, and you, Sam, will be free. Does that sound good? Hmm?" Her voice was so sweet and melodious, that he was almost swayed by the bile.

His thick lips framed a thin line, as he sat and pondered. A slow nod appeared.

"Is that a yes? You'll do it?" Mercedes asked.

He simply nodded again.

She smiled softly, "This is good, Sam. Trust me."

"I did." He said mournfully to himself. He knew she heard him.

Mercedes motioned for Bush to get the phone.

Sam thought for a moment, "If I do this, and you let me go, do I still get that date?"

"What?" Mercedes choked in amusement. "Why would you even want to?"

"After what you've put me through, you could at least buy me a meal."

"Sam-"

"I'll do it. I'll talk to my dad. Get his to bend to your threats. Whatever. I want dinner."

Mercedes looked to Clinton who seemed to have a pained look in his eyes. "Look-"

"Was everything you say, everything did, this whole time, was it a lie?" He wanted the truth.

"Fine, Sam. One dinner."

Bush returned with the phone, and placed it in front of Mercedes. She picked up the receiver and handed it to Sam.

"Just me and her." He said to the lackeys.

"No-" Mercedes protested.

"Just me and you. Please?"

Mercedes huffed and waived the men upstairs. They were alone.

"Are my brother and sister okay?"

"They're just fine. We never touched them."

"Where am I?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Now make the call."

"Did you ever want me?"

"Make the call, Sam."

Sam took the receiver and meditated to the dial tone. His hand shook as he spun the numbers, each one closer to his freedom. But with the slightest of hesitations, Sam took the base of the phone and hit Mercedes in the back of the head. He hauled ass up the stairs. The door was unlocked and with the single turn of the knob he was in a kitchen.

He knew exactly where he was, but the picture of the bald, affable man and his dapper son under a tire magnet on the fridge confirmed it. He saw the stacks of hundred dollar bills on the kitchen counter, along with copies of the same ransom note over and over again. Then Sam remembered, "Campaigns cost a lot of money."

It was then; he felt the phone cord around his neck and her small, brown hands pulling it harder and harder. Clinton grabbed his legs so he couldn't fight back, but that didn't stop Sam from flailing. They dragged him down the stairs. Bush followed behind them with his gun cocked and ready. The door slammed before the shot went off.

* * *

**A/N: Don't forget to vote! :P I think I seem to like Psycho!Mercedes, I don't know what that says about me. To the person who PM'd me an election prompt, this is me doing the ABSOLUTE most. It's like Tom Clancy meets V.C. Andrews or something. I dunno. I hope everyone could guess who was under each mask; I tried to have each president match his or her personality. Anyways…**

**Please review, if you wanna.**


	4. Chapter 4 - Last Call

**Chapter Four: Last Call**

**A/N: Greetings! Thanks for all of the response to "Born Free." I know it was pretty whacked out. I'm trying to alternate between crazy one-shots and fluff ones, so my heart doesn't heart too much. So, this next one is an experiment I wanted to try out. It's basically just a long conversation. It's sparse. Alright, here it goes…**

* * *

It started out innocently enough.

Mercedes laid across her bed, looking over designs for work that she'd never be caught dead in, when he called. She glanced at the clock on her way to answer the phone.

"2am? I hope you sent her home in a cab."

"I offered," the deep voice on the other end replied. "You busy?"

She looked down at her sketch. "Yeah, but not too busy to hear about your god-awful date."

"It wasn't god-awful, it was just brief."

"It's 2am and you're talking to me instead of having your head between some desperate girl's legs."

"Very nice, 'Cedes."

This was their thing. Best friends since tenth grade glee club, they would call each other every night. But now that they were older, busier and farther away from each other, the calls came whenever they had the time. Meaning, when the world was asleep and their minds' were wandering. Her in New York and him in Nashville. He was an hour behind, but sometimes it felt like a lifetime.

"It wasn't that bad," Sam protested.

Mercedes sat there and waited, knowing he was full of shit.

Sam finally relented, "I ordered us a pizza. Thought a quiet night in would be nice. You know, a cool second date thing."

"Yeah yeah yeah, get to the good stuff. What happened?" Mercedes knew he liked to ramble, and the story wouldn't end until Christmas.

"Patience, 'Cedes. I'm getting to it. We were kissing. The usual. Then her hand went down my pants, and then I started thinking about my Grandma and if she did this kind of stuff on a second date."

"Judging by how many aunts and uncles you have, she probably did more on the first." She chuckled to herself.

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

"So, then she began the… f-f-"

Mercedes grinned through the phone, "Fellatio?"

Sam was too embarrassed to say the word, rolling his eyes he said, "_That_. I don't know, it felt weird. Like, she'd be down there for a while and nothing was happening. But then I finally, you know…"

"Came?"

"Yes."

"Good lord, Evans. You're a grown man, use your words."

"I came! I went to the bathroom to clean myself off. Then, I looked down and I thought I saw blood."

Mercedes gasped, "No! Was it really blood?"

"It was tomato sauce."

Bigger gasp. "No!"

"She-"

"SHE BLEW YOU WHILE EATING PIZZA?!" Mercedes cackled.

Sam objected, "It's not that funny."

"It's not. It's hilarious! She was multi-tasking like a champ."

"This may be the worst date I've ever had."

"Yet you lived to tell the tale. The next time I see you, I'm gonna eat a slice of pizza." She laughed.

Sam finally got into the spirit and laughed along with her, "As long as you're not chewing when you go down on me."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure my mouth's free."

It suddenly got quiet on both ends of the line. Neither sure of what just happened in the conversation.

Sam broke the silence, "Would you… would you ever… do that?"

Mercedes played dumb, "Sam, I live in New York. Pizza's very common."

"No, I mean… the other thing."

Mercedes gulped. "Oh. Well, I've had worse things in my mouth. You didn't go to Kurt and Blaine's Tofurkey Thanksgiving last year." She forced a chuckle, not sure of where the conversation was going.

"I've thought about you, you know."

Mercedes sat up in the bed, "You have?"

"Yeah. What you feel like. Taste like. I remember how in high school, you'd go to bed in your dad's old softball shirt. Do you still wear that?"

Mercedes looked down at her white t-shirt with red sleeves reading _The Batting Bicuspids_ on the front. "Sometimes."

"You're wearing it right now, aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Possibly."

"I knew it!"

"You did not!" She wondered, "Do you still wear those Superman briefs with the 'S' on the front?"

"How'd you know about those?"

"I helped your sister do laundry once."

"Well, I've gotten a little too big for those now."

"I bet."

Sam took his in, "You wanna see?"

Mercedes' eyes grew big, "Sam, you are not texting me a picture of your dick!"

Sam howled across the line, "I'm not gonna text you, Mercy."

"Good." She relaxed.

Sam felt bold, "I wanna see you."

Mercedes' knees drew closer to her chest like a child's would. "It takes fifteen hours to get to where you are."

"Go to your computer," Sam instructed.

Mercedes leaned over the side of the bed and pulled up her laptop. When she lifted the screen, she already saw an incoming message on Skype from "SamTimeNextYr." She clicked his name and his face appeared. His blond hair was smushed on the left side from lying down with the phone. His gray undershirt rested on his toned shoulders. His intense olive eyes invaded her through the webcam on his desktop.

"Hey buddy." He smirked.

Mercedes grimaced, "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" He asked, enjoying this.

"Because… what we're doing, buddies don't do."

"Well, we're a certain kind of buddies. Like, Hawkeye and Black Widow. Or Pepper and Stark… or-"

"Marvel fuck buddies?"

"I haven't fucked you yet, Mercedes." Sam could tell she as shocked by the "yet," but he always knew it was inevitable. The way he'd feel when she talked about another guy. The way he'd tell a joke on a date and the girl wouldn't laugh, but he knew his Mercedes would. The way every sense he had triggered his mind back to her.

"Are you in bed?" He asked. She sheepishly nodded. "Lay down for me."

Mercedes hesitantly took the laptop off of her legs and set it on the edge of the bed. She laid down on her back for him to view the full length of her soft upper body.

"You ARE wearing the shirt," Sam exclaimed, amused.

"What are we doing, Sam?" She shielded her eyes with her forearms.

"Exploring an uncharted side of our friendship. We're Lewis and Clark on destinations unknown."

Mercedes turned to him, " Were they fuck buddies, too?"

"That boat might've been too cramped with Sacagawea."

"I tutored you for a whole semester in U.S. History and that's all you could remember?"

Sam shook his head. "I remember that was when you had those annoying bangs that stopped right below your eyelids, so everytime you had something important to say you had to blow 'em out of your face. And I cut off all of my hair, 'cuz I thought mine were just as annoying to you."

"I was the reason you cut out the lemon juice?"

"You're the reason I do a lot of things, Mercy. Now, I wanna do this. But only if you want to. I mean, we can talk… about anything you want." He simpered, "But, I also noticed you're not wearing a bra and I'm intrigued."

Mercedes cheeks grew red. "Sam!"

"Sorry. Sorry. You told me to use my words."

Mercedes took a deep breath, "Okay."

Sam's lopsided grin informed his approval, "Okay."

"Take off your shirt," Mercedes instructed.

Sam stood up from his chair and all she saw on the screen were abs, more pronounced than the last time she saw them. He sat back down, with his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Anxious of what she thought of him.

"Have you always looked like this?" Mercedes asked.

Sam immediately covered his chest with his arms. "Why? I mean, I may have gained a few pounds since the last time you saw me. Is—is that bad?"

Mercedes quickly shook her head, "No no no. That's—you look good—good job… with that." For the first time in their friendship, he made her flustered. He like that.

"Your turn." He said softly.

Mercedes fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt, gradually lifting it over her belly. She could feel him watching her in anticipation. She stopped. "This is so weird."

"I'm here, Mercy. It's okay. I am right here."

She closed her eyes and lifted the shirt over her head, exposing her large, brown breasts that bounced when she tossed the shirt on the ground.

"Damn, Mercedes."

She turned to him, nervous about his words. "What?"

"I really wanna kiss you right now."

A soft grin appeared, "Yeah?"

Sam nodded like a happy fool. He turned his head as if trying to see past the webcam. "I can't see. Are you wearing panties?"

Mercedes slid up and showed him her Superman underwear. He laughed.

"They make them for girls too, you know." She admonished. "You want me to take 'em off?"

"No. Not yet." Sam whispered. That 'yet' still floating in the air.

"You still got on YOUR underwear?"

"Mm-hmm. You want me to take 'em off?"

Mercedes nodded, "Mm-hmm."

Sam stood in front of the webcam and pulled down his black boxerbriefs, revealing his long, thick member. Mercedes was determined to maintain her composure. He just stood there, waiting.

"Um, Mercedes? Can I sit down now?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Sorry." Sam snickered to himself and sat back down.

Sam rested him chin in his fist and wondered, "You remember prom?"

"Which one?" Mercedes asked.

"The one where you wore that purple dress with the strap across it."

"Senior prom."

"Yeah. You took Puck, and I took Sugar. Why did we do that?"

"We were afraid to ask each other, I guess."

"I kept trying to find ways to touch you that night, until you danced with me."

Mercedes beamed, "You helped me off of the stage after my solo, and we slow-danced to 'Take My Breath Away.'" She closed her eyes, remembering, "For some reason, I kept wanting you to pull me closer."

"I tried, but Coach Sylvester was watching us."

She laughed, "And you kept pretending like you weren't sniffing me."

"That's because you always smell like… honey and something else."

"Vanilla."

"That's what it is! Vanilla! You still smell like that, 'Cedes?"

She nodded.

"You smell like that right now?"

She stared into the green light above her screen and nodded again.

Sam reached for the screen. "I wish I was on top of you. Tasting you. Smelling you. Brushing your hair out of your face. I wanna feel you, darlin'."

Mercedes instinctually began rubbing her breasts and pinching one of her stiff buds.

"Would you like that?" He asked. "My hands all over you, instead of your own. My lips kissing those thick thighs. Can you feel me kissin' them?"

She breathed a "Yes," as one of her hands traveled into her underwear.

"Are those my fingers inside of you?"

"No, but I want them to be." She groaned.

"Why's that?"

"Yours are bigger."

"But they a_re_ mine, darlin'. They're inside of you and they want you. Do you want me, 'Cedes? Do you?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, Sam." Mercedes cried. "I want you."

She heard him panting, and for a brief moment she opened her eyes and looked at the screen. His eyes were shut and his plump lips curved into an "O," as she heard him pump himself. Her name at the tip of his tongue like a fervent prayer.

She rode her fingers, arching her back to the thought of him coming inside of her with his hands pinning her arms above her head. She wailed his name like it was the last note to her favorite tune. Her breathing still erratic, she turned to watch him finish. She felt like an intruder, as if she was watching some teenage boy jerk off to a pinup with his Kleenex in hand. Tugging himself just right to the thought of her. Then the epiphany came: this probably wasn't the first time he jerked off to her. Or the second, or the third, or even the tenth by how long he was lasting. She laid on her arm and savored the sight, making bets with herself as to which version of her name he'd cry. He came to "Mercy."

He swallowed in a delighted laugh, and looked at her. Steadying his heartbeat, "Apparently we're buddies who do this." He touched his screen. "You're absolutely stunning."

An anxiousness grew inside of Mercedes. "Sammy, I have to finish looking over theses sketches before Isabelle kills me."

Sam was taken aback. "Oh. Yeah. O-okay. I have a pretty busy day in the studio tomorrow, so. I'll—I'll talk to you later, I guess."

"Absolutely."

"Goodnight, Mercedes."

With a watery smile, Mercedes signed off.

He called her the next afternoon to see if she was all right, but it went straight to her voicemail. "Hey, 'Cedes. It's me. Um, Sam… Evans. I—I was just calling to see… How are you? Call me when you get this. Bye."

He waited for her to call him back… and waited… and waited. He didn't know how long to wait, but he figured a week was enough. He called again. Same message. Same awkwardness in the pit of his gut. With the final message, he decided to call at night this time. Late. Maybe she would be asleep, not think about it and just answer the phone. She didn't. "Mercedes, I'm sorry that we did what we did if that means I can't talk to my best friend. That's you, by the way. Please call me back, okay? Anytime. Just call… please. "

Mercedes listened to the message for the fifth time that day before she turned off her phone. She felt the strong arms of the model she was assigned to tighten around her waist in the dressing room.

"You still coming out with me tonight?" Brody asked. "Karaoke hasn't been the same without you." He rested his chin on her shoulder, looking at the both of them in the mirror.

"What would we sing?" She laughed.

"'One on One.' Hall and Oates."

"Well then, I suggest you put on some pants." She stepped away to see Brody in his boxers and not the suit she hung up for him.

Instead, he shook himself out of his boxers and grabbed Mercedes by her pencil skirt. She pulled down her thong and let him ravage her against the changing room door. Her short legs wrapped around him, as he plowed into her. With each thrust, she saw HIM. The flash of green eyes. The pucker of his full pink lips. Tuffs of unruly blond hair. She looked into the mirror at the muscular physical grinding inside of her, and she even remembered the dimpled dents in his lower back. She couldn't wait for this to be over, so she could chastise herself in the comfort of her own home.

By the time she walked down the corridor to her apartment, she was drunk. She was drunker than drunk. How she realized what floor she lived on was a miracle. But she was conscious enough to say excuse me when she stepped over the homeless man and unlock her door.

"Mercedes?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I gave all my change to the cab driver, but you have a blessed night." She walked in, but the man grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I have mace… somewhere!" She exclaimed.

"'Cedes." Her vision focused for a moment and she saw him. Blond and unshaven with a duffle bag over his shoulder. And just as quickly, she passed out.

She woke up to bacon. Wafts of it coming from the kitchenette just yards away from her. She wanted to get up and makeout with whomever she brought home that thought to fix breakfast, but her hangover told her to put the pillow back over her head. She heard the visitor climb onto the other side of the bed and set a plate beside her head.

"Have some." The deep voice offered. Mercedes reached out from under the covers and searched for a piece of bacon, but with every grasp, the plate got farther away until she ended up with her hand on his lap and her head out of its smothered cocoon. So, she hadn't dreamt him last night.

"What are you doing here, Sam?"

"I wanted to make sure you were still alive." He handed her two aspirin and a glass of water. "Take these and then eat the toast."

A stubborn Mercedes was the worst Mercedes. "No thank you. I don't want any."

"Will you just take the damn things!" Sam yell, triggering her headache.

She clamped her head and muttered, "You're an asshole.

"Yeah, well you made me this way."

"Why. Are. You. Here. Sam?"

"You! I drove fifteen and a half hours for _you_. Because I was worried about _you_! Because I was thinking about _you_! If I hurt you. Or if you were mad at me. Because I missed you. I haven't seen your face or heard your voice in almost a month. And I haven't stood in front of you or held your hand or whatever in how long."

Almost to herself, "Two years."

"Two years?! Two years, Mercedes. So I'm here. And I'm gonna sit here and sit here and sit here until your head stops hurting and you talk to me."

He started biting into her toast, waiting for her to respond. She huffed and stuck out her hand for the aspirin. She popped them, chugged the water and snatched what was left of her toast out of Sam's hand.

Sam felt relieved. "Good. So-"

At his words, Mercedes laid back down and placed her pillow back over her head, with her back towards him.

By the time the sun disappeared so did the throbbing in Mercedes' head. Her cellphone buzzed.

"Would you look at that? Your cellphone rings. You can answer it, too?" Sam was still there and laying atop her covers.

Mercedes answered, "Hey… I'm doing better… I had a good time last night too… Yeah… Oh, those? You-" She turned around to the sight of Sam and his clenched jaw, she carefully tuned around and whispered into the receiver, "You can keep 'em if you want… Your next fitting? It's, um, Monday… Okay… I'll see you then." She hung up her phone and dreaded the conversation that was to follow.

"Who was that?" Sam asked nonchalantly.

"Just… a model Isabelle assigned me to."

"The model, is she going to be wearing what you picked out?"

"He's wearing a suit I designed, actually."

"Exciting times for you, then."

"I'd like to think so."

Sam hesitantly reached for her hand in the darkness. "Do… do you wanna be with me?" He asked, staring straight ahead.

Mercedes hung her head. "I don't know. I'm scared, Sam."

He turned to her. "Me too. But that's a good thing."

"But why now? Why not two years ago. Or when we were in high school? Or when I came to visit you in Nashville?"

Sam bit into his jaw, "I wanted to be with you then, too."

Mercedes growled into her pillow.

"Is now a bad time to tell you that I'm in love with you?" Mercedes hit him in the face with her pillow.

After the commotion died down, "You like this model dude?"

"About as much as he likes wearing clothing."

Sam looked confused at the statement. "No, Sam."

Mercedes sat on the bed, "It's just that all of the things that I felt for you for so long, I thought they were… one-sided. And I accepted that. But I didn't mean to hurt you, Sam. I'm sorry."

He brushed the hair for her face and looked into her doe eyes, cupping her cheeks for emphasis. "I lied in my last message. I'm not sorry about what we did. You're my best friend, and hopefully more. I mean, if that's alright with you."

"I want to say yes-"

"Then say yes, 'Cedes. Please."

"But-"

"No. No 'but.'"

"We even live far from each other."

"That can change, but my feelings for you won't."

He kissed her temple. "Darlin'," Sam whispered. "You gotta jump with me, okay?"

Mercedes closed her eyes so the tears wouldn't come, but they did anyway. Sam kissed the first trail, tasting the salt until he reached her lips. His bottom lip parted the seam to her full pair. She wrapped her arms around him in a lost embrace and deepened the kiss. Sam pulled away to read her face, what she was feeling, if her eyes full of the same passion as his. Her eyes were still closed as she licked her lips.

She looked to see her amorous voyeur. "I miss you, Sammy."

"You too." Sam's lips crashed into hers. At her gasp, he let his tongue into her accepting mouth.

Their moment of passion was interrupted by Sam's stomach growling, and Mercedes laughed into his chest. "Are you hungry?"

Sam looked down, red-faced. "I guess."

"Mmm, what do you want?"

"I don't know, you got any suggestions?"

Mercedes said, amusing herself, "I could order some pizza."

* * *

**A/N: I decided to give Mercedes a bit of Hummelberry's life for the day, because we'll probably never know what the hell she's doing in L.A. besides an offensive throw away line, and also because I can. Wait, so do this mean the next one-shot's gonna be crazy? :S Oh, well… Review if you'd like, folks. **


	5. Chapter 5 - New Leaf

**Chapter Five: New Leaf**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Glee," but I hear its remnants are being used to fertilize Ryan Murphy's front lawn.**

* * *

She wrote him 971 letters, and Sam knew every one by heart. Each one was written on pink stationary with a giant "M" on top and sprayed with lilac. It had reached the point where he couldn't sleep without an envelope beneath his pillow with her scent lulling him to sleep, and dreams of her in his arms.

He had covered his bunk with pictures of her. Candids with her family, singing at church, laying at the beach, blowing him a kiss through the camera. He kept that one in his denim shirt pocket, growing crinkly from… overuse.

He thought about finally being able to touch her. Would she be as soft and plush as he'd imagined? Would her lips be as sweet as her letters? Things would be different without at phone or a glass between them. They had spent all of this time declaring their love for one another and had made certain promises. Sam promised no more tattoos, no more fights, no more using the Lord's name in vain unless it was within the conjugal sense, and most importantly no more stealing. However, when her church's ministry came to visit for the first time, Sam said t was she that had stolen something… his heart. Even he had to roll his eyes after he said it, but he meant it. And in twenty minutes, he was going to have his Mercedes in his arms.

Sam gave himself one last glace in the mirror over his toilet. His blond hair, cut short and parted to the side, he adjusted the tie on the suit he had worn when the jury found him guilty. He licked his index and pinkie fingers, prepared to smooth his blow like his daddy'd taught him, when the guard banged her nightstick against the bars.

"It's about that time, Evans."

Sam grabbed his Bible and his box of letters from the top bunk, and didn't look back. He got a few hollers and catcalls as he walked past the cells, but he was already full with a song in his head to hear anything the men were saying.

_What you gonna do when you get out of jail?_

_I'm gonna have some fun._

_What do you consider fun?_

_Fun, natural fun._

With each step down the guarded path, Sam's heart would beat a little faster. His smile would grow a little wider. His spirit would feel a little lighter. When the final gates opened into the parking lot, the sun even seemed to rise a little higher in the sky, welcoming him back into civilization.

And then, there she was, resting against a purple Cadillac. She stood up and straightened out her curve-hugging dress. She looked as if she was ready to run and leap into his arms, but she kept on hand on the car door to prevent herself. That didn't stop Sam from putting some speed in his stride until he stood before her with an amused grin on his face. She was much shorter than he remembered and that endeared her to him even more.

She gave a toothy grin of her own when Sam stopped a mere foot away. Both were unsure of how to greet one another, but knowing that they yearned for one another. Without a second thought, Mercedes flung herself at his broad chest and wrapped her short arms around him. Sam stood there dumbstruck at first before hugging her back with equal intensity. He felt her sob against his torso, and he rocked her back and forth, as he rested his chin atop her head. She smelled even better than her letters, which he forgot were still in his hand.

"Hold on," he said. He pulled away for a regretful moment and place his things on the roof of her car, and just as quickly swept her back up again. "Mercy" was his final greeting.

"You're so tall" were the first words Mercedes could summon, wiping away her happy tears. Sam cupped her face. His thumbs swiped away any remaining teardrops. Now that he could finally touch her, he was addicted. Her mahogany skin was soft and pliable under his pale, callused hands.

He licked his lips, scanning her features all the way down to the sweetheart neckline of her olive green dress, realizing that it matched his eyes. "You wear this for me?"

Mercedes coyly looked away, "No, I'm wearing it for the other free guy I'm picking up."

"Yeah? Well, he doesn't deserve it."

She tugged at his jacket. "But you do."

Sam leaned his forehead against hers, trying to instill the moment into memory. Sam asked, "All of the paperwork ready?" Still reveling, he felt Mercedes nod her head. "So, you wanna do it today or wait until tomorrow?"

Mercedes lifted her head and exclaimed, "Today!"

Her enthusiasm was so infectious that only a kiss on the cheek could calm her down. She put her arms around his neck, craving more, but settled on a kiss to his pointed chin.

By noon they were at the courthouse, and by 1:45 they were husband and wife. With the judge's permission of "You may now kiss the bride," Sam collected his new bride into his arms and devoured her lips for the first time. The couple behind them cleared their throats, forcing the brazen newlyweds to finally part and move along. They paused in front of the Ohio state flag in the lobby for a quick wedding portrait taken on Mercedes' phone. She smiled at the camera while he nuzzled her temple.

Mercedes rested her head on Sam's shoulder as the elevator rose to the top of the parking garage. The ding shook her from her enchanted state. She took his ring-less left hand into hers, and brought it to her cheek.

Once in the car, Mercedes checked her phone for the time, pausing with a soft grin at her new wallpaper. "We've got an hour 'til the meeting with your P.O."

Sam reached across the console and caught her for another matrimonial kiss that she deepened, pulling at his tie for him to get closer. She slid her tongue into his gasping mouth, tasting the cigarettes he had earlier. Sam pulled away with a wet, wanton smack of their lips to catch his breath.

"Did you wear 'em like you promised?" Sam asked expectantly. Mercedes chewed on her bottom lip, nodding as she regained her shyness. He pecked her nose. "Show 'em to me, sweetheart," he begged.

Mercedes sat against the window of her driver's seat, and lifted up the hem of her dress. She revealed a pair of leopard-printed panties atop her luscious brown thighs. Sam stifled a groan before instructing, "Take them off." Mercedes acquiesced, sliding her panties down as Sam unbuckled the brown leather belt to his trousers. Once he unbuttoned his fly, Sam pulled his wife across the armrest and onto his lap, her legs on either side of him. She licked his Adam's apple, loosening his tie and collar. Sam took her panties to his face and inhaled deeply.

Sam croaked, "This is what I've been missin'."

"Oh, yeah?" Mercedes inquired. Her tongue traced his pout, amused at the deep red lipstick smudges on his kiss-swollen lips. Sam pulled the lever on the side of the passenger seat, scaring himself and his lady with how fast the seat fell back. Mercedes could not control the snort that escaped with her fit of laughter, and buried her face into his collar in embarrassment, only to make Sam laugh harder.

"I could get used to that," Sam pined.

Mercedes reached towards the backseat and rustled through a plastic bag until she pulled out a condom.

"That's my girl," Sam whispered into her neck before marking her for the first time. Mercedes ripped the gold wrapper open with her teeth. Shying from the lips against her neck, she let him take the condom from her hand and sheathed himself. She slowly rubbed her fold against his hardness, and moaned at the feel of his erection against her throbbing button. She hissed when he entered her, grabbing the headrest for comfort.

"Mmm, baby, you weren't lying," she growled.

"You think you can handle it, Mrs. Evans?" Sam slapped her ass once and then again for good measure. The smacks were the impetus for her body to dance atop his cock. Sam met each roll with an upward thrust. Mercedes reacted with a desperate yelp that she soon covered with her hand at the sound of a car passing. Both of them tried to hide beneath the window. The sound of the car distanced, and Mercedes unconsciously swiveled to accommodate his member while her husband clutched her thighs.

"I've been waiting 822 days for this. Since you told me you loved me. I've been thinking about this. This moment. Coming inside you," Sam moaned before taking her mouth again. He reached and released a breast from the cup of her dress. "You're fuckin' perfect, Mercedes." His teeth tugged at her sensitive bud. "You think about me, sweetheart?"

With her eyes shut tight, gripping his shoulders, Mercedes diligently jounced on his cock. "Everyday," she cried. Through each bounce, she lamented, "Every hour. Every minute. I thought about you, Sammy." She grabbed his face for a searing kiss. Mercedes brought a hand between them, and flicked her clit, anxious for her release.

Sam gently pulled her hand away, "That's my job now, baby." He licked his fingers, and strummed her little bundle of nerves. Mercedes gasped out her peak. His name was an ever-flowing stream out of her mouth, seeping into the padded upholstery.

At the vice grip of her walls, Sam ached for every once of her. From some of their more passionate correspondence, he knew she wasn't a virgin, but the grip that she had on him was beyond snug and drenched from three and a half years of patience. Mercedes slowed down her pace, seizing his exalted face and whispered onto his lips, "I wanna take it off."

Sam searched her soft, brown features for any sign of hesitation, but asked her for safe measure, "You sure, babe?" Mercedes nodded and lifted herself, relieved as he ripped off the condom. She sat back down, feeling him again.

"Cum in me, Sammy."

With that, the blond increased his ministrations, pumping up from his seat and into her with the gusto of a man with a new lease on life. He wailed "Mercedes" so even the jailbirds in the basement cells awaiting their trials could hear his rapture, and the cause of it all was the pocket-sized mahogany diva of perfection on his lap. Both breathed each other in amidst the afterglow until they heard a car alarm blare a few levels below.

In the basement of a rec center that housed pool floaties and wiffle ball bats, Mercedes sat in the hallway, dangling her heel on the tip of her toe, while Sam sat in the office of his probation officer. Sam scrunched in the metal folding chair, as a rather loquacious, black woman hovered over him with her spiel. Her nameplate read "Roz 'The Body' Washington," but from the earful he was getting he felt "The Mouth" would have been more appropriate.

"Sam Evan!" Roz hollered, "I don't want to like you, but you are the first person I've seen all day without a neck tattoo or a body odor that attacks all five of my senses, so that already puts you in high regard with me. But I also like cops. Calling 'em. Sharing donuts with 'em. Playing 'Find the Nightstick' with a few of them in an off-duty cruiser.

"So be clear, you fuck up just once, and you go back to jail. You don't check in with me, you go to jail. You hit a guy 'cause he finds those soup coolers on your face amusing as all hell, you go to jail. And if you stick up another family like you did in Canton, I will personally string you up by your tiny pink nipples, 'Last King of Scotland-style' and beat you like my half-Mexican nephew's birthday piñata… and then you go to jail. You hear me?"

Sam's eyes grew big from fear, and if he was being honest with himself, a little bit of an attraction. Roz burst through his thought, "Nod to me if I'm getting through to you. Nod to me!"

Sam gave a soft, respectful nod before she continued, "Good. Now, where will you be staying?"

"With my wife… in Lima," he replied.

Roz searched her file. "The paperwork doesn't say anything about a wife."

"I know. We just got married… today. This afternoon."

She paused, caught a little off guard, and asked, "The My Size Chocolate Barbie in the hallway?"

"Y—yes, ma'am," he answered, attempting to avoid her seemingly judgmental gaze.

"Hmm" was all she said.

Sam didn't know how to take that "hmm," but he knew better than to question it in front of her.

"Are you gonna be a pain in my booty, Sam Evans?" She inquired with legitimate concern.

Sam thought for a moment. "I'm—I'm gonna try my damnedest not to be." And he meant it.

Sam smiled to himself, as Mercedes drove through town. Her right hand never left his knee as they drove around what Sam was quickly learning to be Lima Heights. With its chain-linked fences and hostile faces following him as they cruised the block, it had an air of familiarity to his recent home.

He was confused when Mercedes pulled in front of a large gate on what seemed like the edge of town. Mercedes jumped out of the car and unlocked the gate, allowing them to drive through. They emerged into a barren lot, greeted by a silver Airstream trailer at its center that reflected the candy-colored Caddy as they parked in front of it.

Sam climbed out of the car and tried to grasp his surroundings. He asked, "Is this home?"

Mercedes ran up behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "Not yet, but it will be." She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the family of plastic pink flamingos planted in the yard. "This is gonna be our living room where we'll get one of those big, monstrous TVs with surround sound speakers in each corner, and watch the Bengal game after church. And you'll yell at the screen, while I'll root for the other team. Just to annoy you." She pulled him to the side of the trailer. "And this is where we'll entertain guests with my famous strawberry lemonade. And play Pictionary, which we'll always win because you've got hand kissed by God and Jack Kirby… 'Jack Kirby's' the correct reference, right?"

Sam smiled at her dorkiness, and replied, "Perfect, sweetheart."

Mercedes squealed, and pulled him over to the other end of the trailer, towards the mailbox that already had "The Evanses" glued in black letters on the side. "This'll be our kitchen. We're gonna buy one of those stainless steel refrigerators with the freezer on the bottom."

Sam reached for her, and nibbled hungrily against her neck. "So I can get a good view of your ass when you reach for the ice?"

Mercedes nodded, "It's gonna be one of those nice, big California Country kitchens with a long wooden table that I'll put fresh flowers on every week. And you'll show me how to make your momma's butter cookies with the walnuts in them."

A lopsided grin formed on his face at the thought. "You'd make those for me?"

"Of course. I'll make you anything you want. You're my Sammy." She threw her arms around his neck, and fiddled with the stray blond hairs at his nape. His eyelids fluttered at her caress.

He cleared his throat, "And where's our bedroom gonna be?"

Mercedes giggled, "Behind the trailer. From the kiddie pool to the rock pile."

"All the way to the rock pile?" Sam said in mock astonishment.

Mercedes playfully smacked him on the chest. "You keep talking like that, and your closet's gonna be a gym bag."

"Alright, alright. So… where is our actual bedroom?"

Mercedes handed him a set of house keys. "The gold one's for the front door. Silver's for the second."

Sam climbed up the steps, looking back to make sure she was still behind him. When the second door opened, his heart swelled. It's been a long time since he'd been voluntarily let into someone's home. Well, he guessed it was his home now, too. He dramatically lifted his wife into his arms and carried her over the threshold. Above the narrow red diner booth at its center dangled the words "Welcome Home, Sam." The words must have hit him with more reverence than he expected, because Mercedes stood on her tiptoes to thumb away the tears that trickled down his cheek.

"Shh, sweet Sammy. Come on." Mercedes laced her arm around his arm and led him into the bedroom. It looked familiar from the snapshots she had sent him for his last birthday. When he held her in his dreams, it was in that bed. Mercedes' nimble little fingers tugged Sam out of his suit jacket.

"Your brother shipped over your clothes a few weeks ago. They're in the first three drawers." She loosened his tie and playfully pulled it over his head. "A few of my friends are going to be down at Puckerman's Pub tonight. I didn't know if you want to go, or-"

"Let's do it. You wanna show me off?"

Mercedes grinned as she began unbuttoning his shirt. "Yes, please." Each freed button reveal an artist's canvas on his chest. Her eyes shot to the scripture scrawled on his ribcage, "_I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me_." It was something she would remind him of before the end of every collect phone call. Her gaze wandered over to the spot over his heart—above it, rested a hummingbird. Her hands grazed over the raised ink, reddened and she knew it was recent. "Sam-," her attempt at scolding faltered when noticed words below the hummingbird. She immediately recognized them as her signature from all of her letters: "_Yours, Mercy_."

"Sam…" Her tone was hushed and touched.

Sam pled, "This was my last one. I promise."

Mercedes said nothing and removed his shirt completely. Her hands traversed her husband's sculpted body, inspecting with tremendous care.

"You're it for me, Mercedes. I know you deserve a lot better, but-." Sam took of her hands into his.

Mercedes wrapped his hands around her waist, and shook her head. "Don't talk like that," she begged.

"We're gonna have everything, babe. The house. The kids. The rings. That ugly-ass dog you kept sending me clip outs of."

"The French bulldog," she whispered through a watery smile.

"The French bulldog. It's gonna be ours. I promise you that, Mercedes Evans."

Mercedes cupped his face, and gave him a sweet kiss. She instilled, "For now, I just want you. Okay? I'm here for you. Roz said I'm a great asset in your rehabilitation. Remember, Sam, I'm yours. You need anything, I am right here."

Sam lingered over her. His lips caressed her forehead as he muttered, "I need you… right now." He lowered her onto the bed, prepared to consummate their marital bed, but he was sidetracked by sheets. Actual sheets, with a thread count larger than his prison sentence. He was overcome with a softness he had never felt before. He climbed under the covers, willing Mercedes to do the same. Beneath the covers, the relinquished each other of their remaining clothes. Mercedes rested in his arms, fiddling with her name on his chest. He drifted off to sleep in a suspended state of felicity, as he finally got to live out his dream.

He awoke to the feel of his wife sliding out of bed. Her full exposed behind shimmied across the room for her silk robe. Sam groggily leaned over to enjoy the view.

Sam asked through a yawn, "Where are you going, beautiful?"

"It's 7 o'clock," she explained. "We're suppose to go to the pub. I'm gonna shower."

He raised a devilish eyebrow, and asked, "Want me to join you?"

Mercedes sweetly shook her head. "Rest a little more, baby. You've had a long day."

Sam collapsed back on his pillow, listening to the shower run in the next room. He was alone for the first time in what felt like forever. No guards. No asshole jerking off in the cell over. No constant threats. He was allowed to settle in his thoughts. He quickly questioned if that was the best thing. He thought about the word Mercedes used earlier—"rehabilitation." Had he really been rehabilitated? Such a strange word for "let's fix the fuck up." He rolled over to her side of the bed. His eyes lit up at the drawing he'd made of the two of them together framed on her nightstand. He would be a better man for her. He'd be anything she wanted him to be. Husband, lover, friend, priest. Hell, he would figure out a way to be the King of Monaco if that meant her being in his arms like they'd just been.

Mercedes fumbled through a clear plastic bin, searching for a dress to put over the snug black slip she was wearing. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders. Framing her face enough to shield the stares she felt upon her. She turned to catch him. "What?"

His cheeks flushed at being caught. "Nothing. I just… I love you, Mercy."

She beamed in response, "I love you, too. Now, let's get dressed."

Mercedes spent most of the night on Sam's lap; his hands never got enough of her. At first, Sam was nervous meeting his wife's friends. He nodded ferociously as her friend Kurt talked on and on about him and his husband's boutique. Guys like Kurt probably got cafeteria duty upstate, away from miscreants like Sam. He zoned out a bit at the continued utterances of taffeta and inseams, but was jostled back about the need for a human mannequin in the shop window. It meant a job. It meant money in his pocket from him and his lady. More importantly, it meant getting Roz off of his ass. Sam shook his hand and agreed to show up at the boutique that weekend.

Mercedes hurrahed and whispered in his ear, "I knew you could do it."

Sam lowered his head, slightly embarrassed. "I didn't do anything. Kurt just thinks I'm cute or whatever."

"Well, you are. And I'm proud of you, baby."

"In that case, thank you."

Kurt took a spoon from their table, and tapped in on his wine glass, to get the group's attention. "May I have everyone's attention, please? As you know, we aren't just here to stock up on beer nuts and Hep. C. We are also here to welcome dear Samuel into the fold, and to congratulate him and our Mercedes on their nuptials. May the joy on your faces forever endure… minus the wrinkles. May your heart always flutter. And may the patter of little feet happen soon so I can tailor baby clothes." The bright-eyed young man raised his glass along with the others. "To Sam and Mercedes."

"TO SAM AND MERCEDES!" They all exclaimed.

A soft kiss between the couple sealed the toast. When things died down, she asked, "I'm gonna go to the ladies' room. Can you order me another ginger ale?"

"You got it." With a peek on the cheek, Mercedes was off to do whatever women do in the majestic world of the ladies' room. Sam walked over to the bar, inhaling her fragrance on his clothes. The green plaid shirt fit tighter across his chest than he remembered. He leaned against the bar, and waited for the blonde beside him to finish paying the group's tab.

"$600, Puck? We only had, like, three shots." Quinn protested.

Puck answered, "It's the tab for the month. Quit buying all the top shelf hooch for you buddies, princess."

She looked at him with distaste and scowled, "Highway robbery, Puckerman."

He leaned forward across the bar. "I do have an off the menu item you can have for free."

"I've had that already, remember? As I recall, it was too small for anyone to enjoy. Can you take my card?"

Rejected, Puck leaned back and pointed to the sign above the bar. "You know the rules. Cash only."

"Fine." Quinn fiddled through her wallet, fishing out the cash.

Sam finally spoke up. "Who keeps that much cash on them?"

"I tend to get into quite a few jams. It comes in handy."

"Must be nice," he said to himself.

Quinn shrugged, and tossed the money on the bar like it was nothing.

Sam finally caught the mohawked bartender's attention. "Hey, can I get a ginger ale and an iced tea?"

Puck looked at him, confused.

Sam explained, "It's the wife's orders tonight."

The bartender shoved the cash into the tip cup in front of him, and went about pouring the drinks. Sam stared at the twenties and fifties that readily taunted him. It would be so easy to just snatch it, and shove it in his back pocket with no hesitation. Blow it on something nice for Mercy. A pair of earrings or some shit like that.

His hand inched towards the money, as his other hand racked through his hair, full of nerves. But he thought about her, and the disappointed look on her face at him skimming a few bucks. He just got her; he couldn't bear to lose her.

"Here you go." Puck set the two drinks down in front of the shaken blond. Sam reached into his back pocket for cash, but Puck waved it away. "Mazel tov."

Sam gave an awkward nod in thanks. He felt a short arm wrap around his waist, forcing him to turn and see Mercedes. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

Mercedes pointed to the drink, "Is that mine?" He handed the ginger ale to her. "Thank you, baby."

He turned around in her hold. "Listen, do you wanna get out of here?"

"Sure," she responded. "Let me just go get my purse. You okay?" The small woman leaned back to get a good look at him. He seamed different, quieter, but Sam uneasily nodded his head. Mercedes hesitantly walked back to the table.

Sam noticed the tan man in a stool beside him taking in Mercedes' figure. The man whistled, "If I had a girl like that, I'd never let her out of the house. She yours?"

The stiffened blond chose to ignore the man, and took a sip of his iced tea. But, the man slid closer to him in order to get his attention. "I asked you a question. That girl over there with the ass for days, her. Is she yours?"

Sam took a deep breath and replied, "She's my wife, yes."

The man scoffed, "You get to fuck that on the regular? Kudos."

Sam looked over to see Mercedes who was stuck in a conversation with Quinn and Kurt, and prayed that she would hurry up.

The drunk man queried again. "I asked if you and her… y'all bone on the regular?"

Puck swiped the towel from his shoulder at the belligerent man. "Jake, what did I tell you? You're cut off."

Jake put his hands up in surrender. "What? I'm just asking a simple question. 'Cause, see, the answer will determine if I go over there and give Ms. Pretty my number."

"_Mrs._ Pretty," Sam muttered while crunching on a piece of ice.

"Minor detail." Jake got up from his seat. He huffed into his hand to smell his breath and shrugged.

Sam stepped into his path. "Just leave her alone, man." He wasn't in the mood to play games.

Jake smiled, "I'm just gonna take a piss. I don't see the problem in that. But if I happen to make friends on my way to the john and back, that's just an added bonus. Tell me, with that soft voice of hers, she's a moaner isn't she? She seems too sweet to scream. I could change that." Jake shoved him out of the way and began to walk towards her.

Something came over Sam, like he was in the yard again. His reflexes were in overdrive. Before he knew it, Sam dumped out his iced tea onto the bar and bashed the glass over Jake's head. The ex-con found a large piece of glass on the floor and picked it up. He hovered over the man's body, ready to finish the job. But then he heard it…

"Sam!"

He looked up at Mercedes' horrified face. In fact, he started to notice _everyone's_ horrified faces, and dropped the piece of glass. "I'm… I'm sorry" was a hollow incantation, but bellowed from his heart.

Puck grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him away from the bloodied body. "Cops'll be here in five minutes. You, don't move." He pushed Sam onto a stool.

Sam could feel the judgment, the confusion, the fear. That's all he could read from Mercedes—the fear. Tears ran down his face, as he watch his wife help Jake off of the ground and apologized for her husband's behavior, like Sam was some child who couldn't control his impulses. Sam perceived he was worse than a child, he was an animal. That was what rehabilitation had gotten him. He froze when Mercedes walked towards him.

"Mercy, I'm-"

Mercedes shook her head, "Don't."

She took the stool alongside him and threaded her fingers with his. She closed her eyes, and rested her head on his shoulder.

He had done this. He was the reason for her heartbreak, and he hated himself for it. He kissed her forehead, enjoying the feel of her, until the sound of sirens descended.

* * *

**A/N: This was more Convict!Sam than Psycho!Sam, and depressing as hell apparently, but it was the best I could do. And I know, I need to update "Sign Here." It's coming soon, I promise. This just came pouring out of me, and I wanted to get it out. Your reviews are better than hot tea and a Boy Meets World marathon on a rainy day, so write one if your heart desires.**


	6. Chapter 6 - Winter Strum

**Chapter Six: Winter Strum**

**A/N: This is, like, three months late, but it's Samcedes week on Tumblr, so I figured what the hell. I tried to write a Christmas/ Winter musical. The songs used are "Snowfall" by Ingrid Michaelson, "Time of the Season" by The Zombies, "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)" by Darlene Love, "Purple Snowflakes" by Marvin Gaye, and "A Snowflake Fell and it Felt Like a Kiss" by Glasvegas. **

**God help us all.**

* * *

The alarm buzzed at 5am, stirring a knackered Sam out of his slumber. He shook off the three layers of blankets and grabbed the top flannel to wrap around himself, as he hit the head. He wouldn't have been shocked if his pee turned into icicles mid-stream, knowing full well he needed to complain to the landlord about the heat, but that was a different problem for a different day. The blessing of a hot shower, a clean pair of thermal underwear and a pair of wool socks that his grandma had knitted him a few years back, became his morning ritual. He sniffed a pair of jeans on the floor and, with a meager shrug, got dressed. Dusk hadn't even broken yet and already he was outside.

A fresh coat of snow bedded the wooden stairs descending from the apartment above the Hummel's garage. Sam crept down the stairs, wincing at every creak, because the least bit of noise would be sure to wake… "'Morning, Burt." Sam paused at the bottom step to see the imposing older man leaning against his railing, seemingly impervious to the cold.

"Good morning, Sam," Burt boomed. Sam bypassed him and headed for his truck. "You're avoiding me, son," the man, clad in his trademark baseball cap and fleece vest, called out.

Sam paused and turned towards him, "I'm not, sir. I promise, I will make rent by the end of the week."

"That's what you said last week."

"Well this week, I'm telling the truth." Sam tossed his guitar case in the passenger seat, before sliding in. Three turns and the ignition finally kicked over.

Sam parked behind the Lima Squeeze Bakery, just in time for the streetlights to turn off and to let the flour guy in for his weekly delivery. His boss ran a tight ship and firmly believed life wasn't worth living without the town waking up to the smell of pastries, which meant Sam arriving at work at ungodly hours for an extra $30 in pay to set a batch of gingerbread cookies in the oven for the town to wake up to. Mornings like this, it didn't seem worth it. The only saving grace was the two hours that Sam go off early because of his diligence. Those hours were his to do what he loved, and from outside of the bakery's window he could look right at it— the lamppost across the street where he could sing his songs. On a good day, around rush hour, Sam was a local god, getting passersby to sing along and dance with him, and most importantly, toss a few bucks into his guitar case.

The bakery was the best job a minimum wager could ask for, but music was his dream. Sam didn't have much ambition, he knew he was dealt the short stick of the Lima Loser, but he was fine with that, as long as he got those few hours in the afternoon.

The timer buzzed on his second batch of cookies, when he thought he heard the faint sound of guitar strings. He shook off the feeling and wiped down the display case beside the cash register. The words softly crept in from outside.

_I want a snowfall kind of love  
__The kind of love that quiets the world_  
_I want a snowfall kind of love  
'Cause I'm a snowfall kind of girl  
_

_I want a snowfall kind of love_  
_That lights up the sky from below_  
_I want a snowfall kind of love_  
_That brings people to their window_

Sam followed the sound at the front window, and noticed the woman beneath the lamppost, carelessly strumming her guitar.

_Won't you bury me in your quiet love?  
Oh bury me in your quiet love  
Oh bury me in your quiet love  
And we will blow away  
_

Sam grabbed a gingerbread cookie in a napkin. He unlocked the front door, and towards the siren across the street. Attempting gracefulness as he trudged through the slick freshly plowed street only to slip a little, as his trademarked Chucks weren't exactly weather appropriate. Her voice was soft and full of yearning.

_I want a snowfall kind of love  
The kind of love that keeps you in bed all day  
Oh I want to look through with you  
And watch it all melt away  
Won't you bury__—_  


"Can I help you?" The short young woman asked, taken aback by how close the blond had entered inside her personal space. She stepped back and asked again. "Can I help you?"

San returned his concentration to her. "I'm sorry. Your voice is just… exquisite."

She smirked, "I've never heard it called that before. Thanks."

"You from here?" He asked.

She shook her head, hiding her lips beneath the oversized wool scarf wrapped around her neck.

Sam stuck out his hand with the napkin in it. He offered, "Want a cookie?"

The dark-skinned girl looked suspiciously at him, and caught a glimpse at the head of the gingerbread man and its frosting-drawn smile. She cordially broke off the head and nibbled on it. "Thanks," she mumbled.

Always the gentleman, Sam swiped the brown beanie off of his head, and stuck out his hand. "I'm Sam," he offered.

She dryly responded, "How do you do?"

He waited for her name, only to be greeted with the swipe of her hair, as she turned to take off her guitar, and set it back into her case.

"Where are you going?"

"The Lima Bean? The guys by the bus depot said they got a public bathroom, and…"

"You— you could use mine. I mean, the shop's. I'd be heartbroken if you gave your business to the Lima Bean. Please?" His olive eyes pleaded for her to stay.

She gnawed on her bottom lip, contemplating her chances of being murdered once inside the bakery. His eyes looked honest, and that lopsided grin of his reassured her.

The girl picked up the guitar and the duffle bag beside her. "Fine. Lead the way."

Sam's smirk morphed into a full grin, as he kindly took her bag and threw it over his shoulder.

The warmth of the bakery was comfort to her. She shoved her fingerless gloves into her coat pockets, before shaking off her burgundy peacoat and tossing it on some random table. She pointed around to figure out her destination.

"Oh," Sam replied. "Right. Bathroom's over there."

The girl ruffled through her duffle for her cosmetics bag, and headed towards the single stall in the back.

Sam stood there, his hands fondling the edges of the guitar case on the table. He felt bold and opened the case. He knew he was overstepping, but he was curious about the enigmatic woman in his restroom. His fingertips grazed the purple velvet interior, tracing the black stitching of the word "JONES" in cursive. Sam looked behind him to see if she was there. In the clear, he pulled out her guitar. Worn with an actual hole in the hull below the high E. He placed the wood o his lap and plucked a few of strings lightly, and instinctually a tune drifted from his heart into his fingers. The chords came alive. His eyes fluttered shut and the simple lyrics came out.

_It's the time of the season  
When love runs high  
And this time, give it to me easy  
And let me try with pleasured hands  
To take you to the sun to (promised lands)  
To show you every one  
It's the time of the season for loving  
_

He felt the presence behind him. The short and intrigued girl looked different. Her hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders. Her mahogany skin glowed under the shop lights. He caught her brown doe eyes with his.

_What's your name? Who's your daddy?  
He rich. Is he rich like me?  
Has he taken anytime  
(To show) To show what you need to live  
Tell it to me slowly (tell me what)  
I really want to know  
It's the time of the season for loving  
_

She sat down in front of him. Her tempestuous eyes turned into a glare. "You wanna put my guitar back?"

With a fresh set of nerves, Sam quickly yet delicately set the guitar back down into the case, and shut it, clicking back the locks.

"That's not a Christmas carol," she demurred.

"What's your name?"

"Is that song even holiday appropriate?"

"My dad liked to play it when we trimmed the tree, so it's holiday appropriate for me… What's your name?"

"Why do you wanna know, _Sam_?"

"So, you're just some girl who magically appears in the snow. No name. No hometown."

"I didn't magically appear. I came by bus."

Sam pressed, "From where?"

"Indiana."

"What's in Indiana?"

"An assload of Jacksons. If I'd have known a cookie and a washbowl meant enduring the Spanish Inquisition, I would've just melted snow."

Sam paused, immediately struck with guilt. "I'm sorry. I'm only… curious."

"Good morning," sang the tiny blonde woman, as she pushed through the front door. "How's my favorite overextended employee?"

Sam finally tore his eyes away from the girl in front of him and greeted April Rhodes, the lady behind the shop and its saccharine nature met her.

"'Morning, Boss Lady."

April bypassed him and headed towards the girl. "And who might this little angel be?" She asked with delight.

The young woman was disconcerted by April's enthusiastic nature and simply responded, "Mercedes."

"Mercedes," April chimed. "Would you like one of my world famous gingerbread cookies?"

Mercedes smiled. "Oh, no thank you. Sam here already gave me one."

April reached and pinched his chubby cheek. "Of course he did."

In the comfortable silence of the early morning, Mercedes reached for her coat. "Um, thank you… both, but I'm gonna be on my way."

"Oh, no," the blonde woman moped. "Stay a while. We've got hot cocoa. You want hot cocoa? Sam, get her some hot cocoa."

He almost leapt towards the counter at the request, only for Mercedes to raise her hand in protest. "No, no, no. I'm fine. No hot chocolate." She wrapped herself in her coat, and grabbed her guitar case. "Thanks again."

April gently extended for the girl, "Aw, well, don't be a stranger."

The ding of the door rang as a goodbye instead of hello, with Mercedes drifting off in the newly risen sunlight.

"I like her," April smiled at the boy, who responded with a mournful nod.

The day went by slower than usual. The minute hand on the Felix the cat clock seemed to taunt him by the freezer. The only saving grace was three o'clock. Sam ran through the cupcake order, spreading the strawberry frosting on top. At the strike at the top of the hour, he dumped the sweets on the counter, rushed for his guitar case and out of the door before April could even wish him her obligatory "Have fun." But from out of the front door, Sam halted. His spot was already occupied. The rollicking thrum of a guitar at the start of her holiday anthem.

_The snow's coming down  
I'm watching it fall  
Lot's of people around  
Baby, please come home_

Slowly but surely, a crowd gathered around the lamppost, hanging on every melodic syllable.

_The church belles in town  
They're ringing a song  
What a happy sound  
Baby, please come home_

_They're singing "Deck the Halls"_  
_But it's not like Christmas at all  
_'_Cause I remember when you were here  
And all the fun we had last year_

The crowd clapped along. Her voice belted with such passion, such grace, such control. For a moment, he savored her voice before hitching his guitar case on his shoulder and heading for the pizza shop next door.

He sat in the window, enjoying his slice, staring at Mercedes counting up her tips. A pang of jealousy hit him, but also of pride. He couldn't quite explain it. But none of that really mattered, when he saw her getting hassled by Officer Chang. Sam tried to follow their bickering through the glass as Mercedes started waving her money at the man in blue. It wasn't until the cuffs came out that Sam fled from his seat and outside amid the squabble.

"I have every right to be here. Same as everyone else," Mercedes protested.

"Not without a permit, no," the young officer proclaimed.

"Mike?" The officer turned at his name, only to see the blond. "What's the problem?"

Officer Chang was thankful to see a friendly face. "Hey, Sam. This lady-"

"Mercedes," she interjected.

"_Mercedes_. Can't perform out here without a permit."

"I told you, I didn't know I needed one. I'm not from here, you ass."

Sam put out his hands, "Mercedes, please, let me handle it."

She shook her head, "I don't need you to handle anything."

The blond looked at her, confused, "So you want to get arrested?" He ignored her objection. "Mike, she's with me. We're a… duo. And you know I've got a permit. It's fine, man. I was on break, getting pizza."

Officer Chang looked at them suspiciously, not believing any of the story. Especially with the overdrawn smile on Mercedes' part. But his eyes relented and he stood back. "Fine."

Sam shook the man's hand. "Thanks, man. There's a butterscotch cupcake with your name on it at the Lima Squeeze."

"Aw, dude, there's no need. Just take a special request tomorrow."

"I beg your pardon," Mercedes asked.

"When you guys perform tomorrow, which I expect you will, I want a song."

The young woman shook her head in refusal, while Sam responded a surefire "Will do."

She gasped as Officer Chang walked away, "Like hell I am. I'm not gonna be here tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be here."

"Look, I just stuck my neck out for you-"

"Hey! No one asked you to do that-"

"I wanted to!" With that, both grew silent. "And I can't really afford a fine if Mike finds out I'm full of shit."

Her doe eyes relented. "Fine... I'll stay for tomorrow."

Sam beamed at her response. "Thank you. Maybe we can meet up later. Practice a few songs. Where are you staying?"

Mercedes hesitated in her answer, "Um... around."

"Well, I have my truck, I can take you."

"No, that's alright."

"It's really not a problem, Mercedes."

"It's just- I didn't-"

He offered her his hand, "Come on."

She stared at his glove-laddened hand and all that he had to offer. Mercedes cautiously planted her hand in his, struck by how quickly he latched on and led them to the parking lot of the Lima Squeeze.

Mercedes didn't know what she expected, but walking up the snow-covered steps to his apartment wasn't it.

Sam instructed, "Stand here for a second. Please."

She nodded at his command, watching him go behind his front door. Certain he was straightening up the place for his unexpected guest, Mercedes heard rustling on the other side of the door and tapped her toes in anticipation. She leapt when the door opened again and Sam spoke, "Fair warning, it's a little cold in here."

The young woman understood, but being inside was better than the frosty exterior. Or at least that's what she thought until Sam closed the door behind her, and the smoke from her breath remained in clear view. He led her into his small kitchen where the oven door laid open, its heat warming the small space. "Might be a little more rustic than you're used to," he mumbled.

"This is fine, Sam. Thank you." She shrugged off her coat, and stretched over the sink towards a cabinet. He admired her curves in the tight, shapely jeans with everyone of her petite movements. "Pots? Sam?"

"Huh?" Sam asked, shaking his focus away from her ass and back to her.

"Do you have any pots? You know, to boil water?"

"Oh, yeah. I have-" He slid behind her, his hands briefly placed upon her full hips as he reached over her. His touch was brief but struck her with a great warmth. Pulling down several pots, he handed them to her.

Mercedes gladly took the rusty old pots. "This'll warm things up a bit. Do you have any tea?"

"If I did, it wouldn't be on purpose. I think there's some coffee in here from the shop."

"That'll work too."

Sam reached over her, more intentionally this time, pulling down a tin of coffee with April's shining face on the label. With that, he sat down at his tiny wooden table in the corner, watching Mercedes' little dance to keep warm. A soft smile grew on his face that forced him to clear his throat. "So, what were you thinking about performing tomorrow? From what I saw today, you were really good with the classics. Would you want to duet or something..."

"I'm not singing," Mercedes demurred.

"I thought- I thought that's what we agreed upon."

"No, _you_ agreed upon. I'm on the next bus out of here in the morning. Got a friend meeting me in Pittsburgh."

Sam smirked, finding her comments amusing. "Really? And these plans are for tomorrow?"

She shrugged towards him. "What can I say? I go where the money is."

"And helping me wouldn't be a part of that plan?"

"Why would I want to help you?"

"Oh, I don't know, me getting you out of a jam? Me giving you a place to stay?"

"In an igloo."

"Free cookie."

"I only ate the gingerbread man's head."

"I sang you a song."

"With my guitar without my permission."

"About that, so is your last name Jones?"

Mercedes paused.

He explained, "I saw it. On the case, and I was just curious."

Caught off guard, Mercedes sat back, "Yes, it's my last name. But the guitar isn't mine. It is now. But, it was my father's."

"Oh, it seemed kind of... old. Is.. is your dad back in Indiana?"

"His ashes are," she replied, oh so meekly.

"I'm sorry, Mercedes." he reached over, placing his hand on top of hers. The rough pad of his thumb caressed her skin. The high-pitched whistle of steam from the kettle ruptured the tender moment. She vaulted her feet and lifted the kettle from the eye, pouring the hot water into their mugs that she rested beside each other on the kitchen table.

"So, what's in Pittsburgh?" Sam asked, easing the unsteadiness of his heart.

"My friend Puck works at a country club. Caddie. They need evening performers. Could be a little bit of fun."

"And that's what you're gonna do?"

"Yeah. There's nothing else for me in this part of the world... Are you from here?"

He shook his head. "Tennessee. Came here when I was a kid. My folks left a while back for work. I stayed for a girl."

"And where's the girl?"

He took a sip from his mug, "With another girl."

Mercedes' eyebrows rose. Intrigued.

"Settle down, Jones. It's not that juicy. She just fell in love. It happens."

She leaned over. "Were you heartbroken?"

Lost in his thoughts, "Was. You miss your dad?"

"Everyday. Do you miss her?"

"Not so much. Not anymore."

"Good." Mercedes rose from her seat. Gathering her coat, she walked over towards the hallway until she reached an open door to a room. He slowly followed behind, catching her stare as she entered his room.

"What are you doing?" Sam stood at the doorframe.

Mercedes let her coat fall to the floor, and sauntered over towards him. His grip on the doorframe grew firm. "Would you mind if I kissed you?" She asked . Biting the inside of her jaw, she waited for his response.

He slowly shook his head, his peridot eyes locked on her brown. "No," he whispered. "I don't mind."

She cupped his rosy cheeks with her fingerless mittens. Her tiptoes propelled her up for a gentle kiss. Soft, sweet, warm. With her eyes still closed, Mercedes stood down. Her lips sucked into her mouth, savoring his spearmint chapstick. The pause was brief as Sam grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her into a deeper kiss. A tangle of tongues and hands roaming, found them on top of his bed. She tore the beanie off of his head, fingering the blond nape of his neck.

His hands reached the button of her jeans, but paused. The heat of the moment made way for sense, and for him to ask, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she mewled. "Don't stop, Sam." A free hand played with his abs under his many layers. "Don't stop."

His lips travelled to her neck as he reached the hymn of her lavender sweater. Fumbling as he pulled it over her head. He tweaked her puckered buds beneath her cotton bra. The feel of cold ever present. He quickly jumped off of the bed at the spark of a thought.

Mercedes covered herself with her sweater. "Now is not the time for thoughts, Sam!" She shouted at the empty doorway from the bed. He returned with a space heater in his unkempt state. Plugging it into the wall, Sam jumped back onto the bed, greeted by warm giggles and tender caresses.

Mercedes strum her guitar in the afterglow. Her luscious nude form was covered by the wooden base, as she lazily played a tune. Though easily distracted by the pink pout that planted lingering kisses on her bare shoulder. Through soft moans, she sang.

_Here in our midst, we're surely blessed (chestnuts roasting)  
Over the heat, gee ain't life sweet? (tempters toasting)  
Drifting all year, without a care (purple snowflakes)  
Cover the ground, without a sound (love the snowflakes)  
I'm sure that snowflakes, fall from the gloom  
And we'll always remember this night, here with you_

He laid his head on her shoulder, letting the song flow through him. Her velvety tone was a godsend. Each pluck of a string lulled him until he was asleep with dreams of her at his side.

When he woke up, she was gone.

Her bags were no longer in the hallway, nor her coat on his floor. He ran from room to room in his longjohns with a tightness in his chest. This couldn't have been it. She couldn't have disappeared, but the small descending footprints down the snowy staircase were his answer.

The day was exhausting. His head hung with every cupcake, every cookie, every coffee he sold. Searching the face of every patron, in hopes of seeing his mahogany siren. April would pat his back, ever so often, unsure of the cause of his sullen state, but her heart breaking for him all the same.

The lamppost held him up, as he leaned, defeated with his guitar. Each song sprang out of him with a melancholy twang, as he thought of lost opportunities. The crowd was meager and so was his interest, until the streetlights came on, illuminating the day-old snow. No longer fresh and pure, but covered in tire tracks and exhaust.

Maybe she wasn't real. Maybe his mind had conjured her up in the wintry abyss. All he knew was that he needed her. $10.34 and a stick of gum were his reward for the day, and a final song strum out of him... for her.

_The prayers from the graveyard keeps mumblin' death  
Too much time hobbles lost in hurt  
Now I'm compelled to care about my future going nowhere_

As I stand here all alone in the cold wonderin' where I'm going today  
Then a snowflake fell and it felt like a kiss now I'm okay

_The ringin' from the bells keep screamin' out love  
As snow fell from heavens above  
Directionless no more. Emptiness no more. _

_Now I don't feel so all alone in the cold wonderin' where I'm going today  
For a snowflake fell and it felt like a kiss now I'm okay-_

Sam stopped at the thud of something into his guitar case, not cash or change. A cookie? A headless gingerbread man.

"Please. Continue. Your voice is... exquisite."

He looked up at the small frame before him. "Only if you sing with me," he replied.

She shrugged, "Okay." A sweet smile spread across her features, "I'm not going anywhere."

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**A/N: Well, there was a snow storm this week, so I thought it might still be relevant. This was truly a fool's journey, but it was fun. Leave a review if you'd like.**


	7. Chapter 7- Kick, Push

**Chapter Seven: Kick, Push**

**A/N: I wrote this for my friend's birthday, but never published it. So, Happy Extremely-Ridicuously-Belated Birthday, Jackie. This may be late, but you're still cute. Okay, so the last one-shot was a relatively fluffy one, meaning, this one skews towards the crazy side. You know the rules.**

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Mercedes Jones was a lady. She may have just thrown up in the Fabray's rose garden, but she was still a lady. Her makeup sweated off from a night of drinking and dancing and whatever nefarious behavior she could get away with past curfew. By the time she had crossed the street towards her house, Mercedes pulled up her hair in a messy bun, yanked off her tattered tights and pulled down her skirt to its appropriate length slightly above her knees. Just another Friday night.

So the sound of clatter unnerved her, mixed with the swift speed of wheels clacking on the surface. It almost made her hesitant to climb the fence into her parent's backyard... almost. 2 am was already pushing it, and Linda and Marvin Jones were dumb, but they weren't that dumb. A swing of her leg and a prayer to Jesus, Mercedes dropped and landed in her mother's marigolds. The sound that halted her intensified.

Back to school week meant non-stop partying. The end of Summer. And never was it more symbolic than the draining of the family's swimming pool. No more swimsuits and baby oil and shirtless boys to apply said baby oil.

And that's when it clicked. That noise. Those wheels. That clean sound, not like gravel. Someone was in the pool. Stepping out of her heels for a hushed step, Mercedes tiptoed towards the deep end, only to be greeted by a flying boy. Well, he looked like he was flying. The momentum had the wheels of the skateboard connect to the edge of the pool, before face-planting it onto the surface. Hands outstretched to protect himself, but it was too late.

With a gasp of horror, Mercedes ran down the stairs towards the shallow end and raced towards his side. Blood from his nose painted the bare surface as his skateboard rolled to a halt at the young woman's feet.

"Son of a bitch," he yelled. His knees tucked into his chest as he allowed himself to feel the pain.

"Are you okay?" Mercedes finally spoke. His tuffs of blond hair shook out of his face enough for her to recognize him. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" He groaned out.

"What are you doing at my house?"

"What?" He rolled over to look at her. "Mercedes?"

"Yes. Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

"The hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"Well, whatever it is, you're not doing a good job of it. Your face is a mess."

"That is not helpful."

Mercedes leaned over him and offered her hand. He looked down, crimson-faced at his own.

"Let me look at you." Mercedes pulled him forward. Her small hands cupped his chubby cheeks as she leaned his face towards some light. "It doesn't look that bad. Does it hurt if I do this?" She pinched his nose.

Sam cringed quickly, "Fuck! Aw! Why would you do that?" He exclaimed.

"Will you hush. You'll wake my parents. I didn't feel a crunch, so it's not broken."

The boy cowered.

"Now, why are you in my backyard?" She asked again.

Sam held his nose, forcing a nasal response. "I come here sometimes. To skate. When your parents' lights are on, that usually means they're not home, right?"

"You do this a lot?"

"Not _a lot_ a lot. I mix it up."

Mercedes startled amongst a mental revelation, "The other night, I heard something outside, while I was putting on my nightgown. I heard wheels."

"Okay. Noted, once I realized what was going on, I immediately turned around."

She shoved him. "You asshole."

"To be fair, who gets undressed in front of a window?"

"I do!" Her smacks kept coming, like little pats against his chest.

"Mercedes!"

The young woman cringed at the familiar sound of her name, called with a resounding yell.

"Shit," Mercedes muttered. She grabbed the blond boy's hand and pulled him down towards the deep end of the pool. Hiding them in a corner. "It's my mom."

"You're gonna get into trouble."

She responded with a mild shrug. "I'm used to it."

Sam couldn't help the boyish smirk the crept upon his features.

"Oh, no," Mercedes winced.

The young man swiftly became self-concious. "What? What is it?"

Sam felt the blood from his nose running down the bow of his lip, and so did his realization. "Aw. Sorry." He went to run his long sleeve against his nose when Mercedes stopped him, pulling at his forearm and shaking her head.

"Here." She ruffled through the purse on her arm until she found a loose tissue. "Let me take care of it." She arched his chin under her crooked finger, and dabbed at his bloody nose with the tissue. "Can you breathe?"

He nodded.

"Good," she whispered. She grabbed his nose between the knuckles of her middle and index fingers. "Now, next time you won't be such a creeper, and sneak into my backyard."

"Fine, fine. Alright, alright. I won't sneak anymore. I'm sorry." The pain from his nose left him on his knees, begging.

She released him. "That's what I thought."

The backyard grew quiet. Unbearably so.

"She gave up?" He mused.

"What?"

"Your mom, she gave up. She's not shouting anymore."

"I've been known to wear her down."

"Well, I'd sure like to be on the other side of that."

Mercedes rolled her eyes at his come on. Masking the unexpected flutter in her chest. Sam noticed the change instantly, moving a little closer towards her as his confidence grew.

"So, does that mean if I wanted to come over here, and hang out, I can just ask?"

She fiddled with her purse. Her eyes avoiding his intense, invasive stare. She shrugged, "It's whatever. If you wanted to come by and skate, That's fine Just call first," she muttered.

Her uncharacteristic meekness made his lopsided smirk even out. "What if I didn't want to skate? What if I just wanted to see you?"

"That's unlikely." Mercedes had known Sam and that grin since eighth grade and she wasn't buying it. She was used to seeing him with those plush lips too tongue deep in Santana Lopez to pay attention to the homeroom bell. The thought made her furrow her brow at him in confusion. "What do you want, Sam?"

He shook his head, "Just wanted to talk to you until you told me to fuck off."

With her arms folded, she replied, "Well then, fuck off."

"You really want me to go, Mercedes?" His slow and measured steps resulted in the young woman pinned in the corner of the pool on both sides.

"No." She didn't recognize the small voice she was speaking in with her reply.

"You know, I saw you yesterday..."

_Oh, god_. She thought. Outside. Behind the cafeteria. Mercedes walked towards her car in the parking lot when she thought she heard a cat the sound, Mercedes was met with a sight she could never un-see. Santana masked by the shield of her wild hair, while the blond boy took her from behind.

At first she was shocked at the audacity of them. Broad daylight where anyone could find them. But that shock soon turned into longing. Wanting to be raptured like that with no care of the consequences. She thought she'd had that with Mike, but the summer turned into autumn, and he'd grown more interested in Tina Cohen-Chang. It was the longing that made her stare at them a little longer than she maybe should have. It was that longing that Sam caught when he looked up and saw Mercedes standing there, and he smiled. He actually fuckin' smiled at her. And that's when she ran.

"Mercedes?" Sam whispered, "Mercedes, you okay?"

Shaken out of her thoughts from the day before, "Yes, I-" She cleared her throat. "I'm okay."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Right now or yesterday?" She demurred.

He shrugged, "Both."

With a long sigh, she thought aloud. "She never said your name."

"What?"

"When you and her were having sex-"

"Fucking."

She tucked the stray loose strand of hair behind her ear, ducking his word. "... _Fucking_. She never said your name. She called you 'Trouty' a lot. The 'Lisa Rinna' part was a little... peculiar, but she didn't call you Sam. It's a nice name."

"Would you say it?"

"What?"

"Would you say my name?"

Her instinct was to play coy. "I've already said it."

"You know what I mean."

"Do you want me to?"

He looked at her with hooded eyes, and nodded slowly.

Mercedes licked her lips, and it came out in a rasp. "Sam."

He caught her lips with his own before she could say it again. The smack of their moan-filled kisses echoed throughout the pool.

Sam rested his forehead against hers, catching his breath. "Say it again," he murmured.

"Sam," she breathed.

His hands grabbed at her waist, clawing into her soft folds with each lustful mouthful of her. Mercedes ran her fingers through his blond mop of hair. Tugging until she got a resounding whimper.

"Are you gonna fuck me like you did her?"

"No." His hands inched under her skirt until he felt the top of her panties. "I wanna look at you while we do it."

Without a second thought, Mercedes brushed past Sam's hands and pulled down her lace boyshorts, while Sam paused at his jeans. "You sure?"

Without hesitation. "Absolutely."

Sam clawed at his zipper. The young brown girl dug for the condom in her purse that she'd had since August. He snatched it from her hand as she reached to cup his face. Embarrassed by how wet was for him since the start of their conversation, she hid her face into his neck.

"Don't be shy, 'Cedes." He curved his hand beneath her drenched pussy, taking the essence from his fingers into his mouth. "Because I'm not."

With a surge of confidence, Mercedes wrapped a leg around Sam's waist, prompting his entrance. "I'm not shy," she declared. "Fuck me. Now."

He plunged into her wetness, leaving her little time to adjust, allowing her a shocked wheeze. Crying into his shoulder, Mercedes wrapped her arms around him. He rolled his hips at a gentle pace despite her gasps.

She licked at the seem of his lips for him to suck her tongue. The dance of dominance left Sam in the lurch when she pulled away. "Don't go slow," she begged. "I'm here. You've got me. And I want it. Make me come."

The blond boy pressed her harder against the corner of the pool, gripping her other thigh, raising both legs around his waist.

He smiled, "Not because you told me to." His eyes grew surprisingly darker, as he bounce them against his cock with such power and magnitude, Mercedes thought she was being split open.

"Oh, Sam," she mewled.

"Keep saying it. Keep saying that shit."

"Sam. Fuck. Oh god, Sam." The pleasure at each thrust was almost blinding. Shutting her eyes to take it all in.

"Look at me. Mercedes, look at me."

Her brown, doe eyes focused on his. "Keep those pretty eyes open," he instructed. "I wanna see my work."

She nodded, while her full lips remained in a permanent "O" fixture.

"S.. Sam, I'm gonna..."

"Sh.. Come on."

She clenched his member with great urgency, belting his name in euphoria.

"Mercedes," he whispered.

"Fuck, Sam," she cried. Her cream coated the condom. "So good."

"Mercedes!" Her name on the tip of his tongue, but instead heard against the paned glass sliding door from Mercedes' mom, as the young girl reached her peak.

The revery was awash with concern, but not until he finished. She kissed him until he exploded into the rubber. "You okay?" He asked, as he glided himself out of her.

She gave him a gentle smile and a peck on the forehead. "Yeah. It just sounded odd."

"What?"

"My mom. I think I should go in now. See if she's alright." She smiled, "And take my punishment."

Sam reluctantly set her down and cleaned himself off. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"It is." She pulled at his shirt. "But I still would like it if you called me tomorrow. Maybe we could hang out."

He beamed. "I'd really like that."

"Good. Because you're gonna help me scrub down this pool."

He rolled his eyes, "I'm looking forward to it." Punctuating it with a slow, deep kiss.

"Goodnight, Sam." Mercedes picked up her things and sauntered towards the stairs of the pool, when she saw it- a shadowy figure, dressed in a ski mask and hoodie. "Oh, god."

Her heart stopped. Locking her eyes with the masked man, Mercedes' feet turned to stone.

"What's wrong?" Sam walked behind her, catching a glimpse at the terrifying figure. "Go into the house, and call the cops."

She couldn't speak, but she was adamant about not being able to do that. Shaking her head fretfully. Sam rubbed her arms, "You can do it, okay?"

Sam ran up the stairs with his skateboard in hand, as the masked figure jumped the fence. "Stop!" He shouted, jumping the fence behind him.

Reaching around the corner, Sam paused. "Hey!"

"Yeah?" The voice behind the mask responded.

"What did you get?" The blond boy asked.

Removing his hood and mask, the man handed them to Sam. "I told you that family doesn't have shit. We should've started with the Fabrays. The whole fuckin' Summer, I couldn't get past the first floor. Mercedes wouldn't even let me into her room. I got some jewelry. Some silver. We can hock that."

"That's great, Mike." His sarcasm was thick. "I can't pay for my family's motel room with a string of pearls."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it? Dance classes ain't cheap neither."

"Fuck it. Fine. We'll try Quinn's next week."

Mike asked, "How are you gonna distract Quinn?"

Sam shrugged, unsure. "I'll think of something. Meanwhile, I gotta get back. Maybe I can search Mercedes' house then. There's gotta be something. Alright." He jumped up and down to hype himself up. "One hit and watch the mouth."

"Fine." Mike got into his stance, and took a hard swing at the blond. Hitting him directly in the left eye. "That's gonna be a bitch tomorrow."

"Whatever. I'll see you later."

Sam walked around the block towards Mercedes' front door, hoodie and ski mask in hand. He rang the bell, stumbling backwards at the short girl's abrupt and desperate embrace. "Thank, god. I need your help." Immediately noticing the purpling around his eye. "Sam, are you alright?"

"I almost had him. But he hit me, and I just..." He worked his way towards tears.

"Shh, it's alright." She gave him a soft peck. "We'll put some ice on it in a minute."

She took his hand and led him towards the living room, greeted to the sight of Mercedes' parents tied up in separate parts of the room.

"I can't get them untied," Mercedes explained. "I went to get a knife and there's no silverware, no nothing."

"I can do that." Sam reached into his back pocket, and pullet out a pocket knife, fishing for the biggest blade. He turned towards Mercedes. "Did you call the cops?"

She nodded. "They said they'd be here shortly."

"Good. That's good."

Sam cut free her mother first. Removing the gag from her mouth, she thanked him, adamantly. Then her father, who shook his hand with his rope-burned wrists. "Thank you, son."

"No problem, sir. I'm just glad that I was here to help. I'm sorry about skating in your pool."

"You were here for my wife and my daughter. That's all that matters right now."

The police sat with Mercedes' mother in the kitchen as she retold her tale. While Mr. Jones sat with Sam outside on the front porch, watching the night sky pink into dawn.

"Hey, I heard about your family's troubles. I'm sorry Dwight lost his job."

Sam shook his head. "We're fine, sir."

"What you did tonight... was brave. Foolish, but brave. Going after him like that. Here." Marvin reached for the checkbook inside his robe.

"Mr. Jones, there's no need for that."

"There's always a need."

Sam looked down at the check in shock, at the three zeros behind the five, especially. He gulped. "Thank... thank you, sir."

"Thank _you_, Sam."

Mercedes was allowed to take Sam upstairs to her room, leaving the door open. She laid on her bed, inviting him to join her.

The boy playfully inquired, "So, when does your punishment start?"

"Tomorrow." She rested her head on his chest. "But I've earned a treat tonight for my trauma." Looking up, the brown girl rested the ice pack over his eye.

"Am I the treat?" He smiled.

"You're definitely something." She laid there, stuck in her thought. "It's weird, though. That hoodie you grabbed from the robber. I could've sworn I'd seen it before."

Sam's eyes shot open. "Maybe. It seemed pretty common to me."

"You're right. So..."

"So?"

"What are you gonna tell Santana about tonight?"

"That I was with you."

"I'm serious."

He smiled. "Me too."

"You can lie. Tell her you were just skateboarding. Now that you're gonna be a local hero in the morning and everything."

He grazed his thumb upon her plump plush lips. "I think it's best to be honest. Truthful."

"Me too."

Mercedes cuddled up against him, giving up her fight with sleep, as Sam laid there, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, he actually believed what he said.

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**A/N: Some housekeeping notes. I'm working on "Sign Here." I've just been really busy with... not writing that. But it's outlined, which is more than I can say for most of the things I write. Anyways, reviews are always welcomed and stored into my spank bank for later. And if you like bribes, well, the next one-shot will be fluffy and if you squint your eyes a little the end of each paragraph creates a drawing of my nude form. Yeah, that last bit was a lie. Adios.**


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